Introducing. . .

He's finally here. Born on December 28 at 8:37pm. Weighing in at 7lb 2oz and measuring at 20 1/4 inches. And bringing me more joy than I thought possible.

There is so much to say and hopefully I'll get to it in the coming weeks because right now? I find myself tongue tied. As I look at my second son I can only say that this love? Words can't sum it up. In the face of this intense love? Words simply fail. All I know is as he lay in my arms, my older son kissing his new brother's forehead. My brothers and parents, my husband, looking down at the scene with hearts brimming over, I got a brief glimpse into the meaning of life. And this? Loving? Being Loved? Letting the love soak into your bones and marinate in your heart? This. This is it.

Welcome to the world baby Musa. It's not perfect but with you here it has grown just that much more beautiful.

And thank you for all your thoughts and prayers. Please know you were in mine.

Just me or. . .

. . . does my son look like he's making cold calls for his bid for the 45th House Congressional Seat? In 1972?

So much to say. So little time. If I owe you an e-mail, I apologize. The days are slipping through my fingers like sand. My personal planet Earth remains a mystery on the subject but either way, next week, if not sooner my little guy will be a big brother. I'm completely prepared and utterly not. I'm completely excited. And terrified. I'm a living breathing walking cruise-ship of an oxymoron. And soon, God Willing, I will be a mother of two. But right now? I'm off to pack that finicky hospital bag. Any advice on what you packed in it much appreciated but more importantly, I hope for your thoughts and prayers. I will surely keep you in mine.

One of those days. . .

It's been one of those days. The one where he suddenly doesn't understand the word no. The one where there are tears over everything like when you put away your pots from under the breakfast table and he sobs, sticking them right back where they were. The one where lollipops must be had and there is a persisting belief that the louder the wails the likelier said lollipops will appear from thin air.  The one where folded laundry scatters throughout the house. And you watch him remove all the clean silverware from the kitchen drawer and proceed to fill them into the dirty dishwasher and because you are so physically down-to-the-bone tired, you just sit down and let him. It's a Sesame Street encore sort of day, where Elmo dances and you dream of sleek black power suits, comfortable office chairs, and one-hour lunches.

And then you see the news. And you know you would take one hundred days like today. Ten hundred. Every day. Like today. To not have a day like these parents who lost their children in this horrible heinous unspeakable situation are experiencing as I write these words.

He's napping now. The house, silent. What will I get when I wake up? A well-rested child restored to good cheer? Or Tasmanian Devil Part 2? It doesn't really matter, does it? Because I will get him, good mood, bad mood, somewhere in between, I will get my son to hold in my arms and to, I pray, put to bed at night, and to wake me up earlier than I would like tomorrow morning. Nothing in life is guaranteed, least of all life. It should never take a tragedy of this sort to remind me of this simple truth.

My thoughts and prayers are with the parents of the children who lost their lives today. Not that this will be enough. Nothing will ever be enough for them anymore.

On sleeping mice, cribs, and most importantly-- prayers

We moved Waleed's crib from his bedroom into ours this evening. With a bit of trepidation, we watched our son's expression as we reassembled the bolts and screws and placed the mattress inside. Who is this crib for? We asked him. Baby! Baby crib! He exclaimed with a huge grin, and then, his eyes lit up as he ran off with K to grab the sleeping Mickey mouse my brother bought him when he was a newborn. We settled the mouse into the moses basket resting in the crib and gently placed a blanket. Wait! Waleed cried. He plucked out the mouse. He rocked it and sang twinkle twinkle little star. Then he kissed the mouse twice on its nose and placed him back inside. Love you baby, he whispered placing a hand over the stuffed animal. Then, he quickly ran off to play.

It's taken some time but he's slowly coming around to the idea of a baby brother. And today when I saw this pretend play, I think I couldn't speak for a good solid minute so full felt my heart. While I know there will be bumps along the way in the path of siblinghood, I am heartened to see a glimpse of the deep abiding love I pray will be there for all time.

And then my heart fell down to my feet. One of my friends is dying. She has terminal cancer and I just learned that things don't look good right now. Her husband chronicles the intense pain that knows no words and brings about a useless weak-kneed pain in me for the seven circles of hell they are enduring. They are kind. They are good. They have a son. Itsnotfair. Itsnotfair. Itsnot fair. I simply can't process the unfairness of it. There is a belief by some in my faith that the prayers of a laboring mother are heard with special attention from God. I hope this is true. I hope they are sent like genie-wishes straight to the Almighty.

I'm making a list of those I will pray for when the day arrives, and if you would like me to pray for you generally or if there is anything specific you would like me to pray for you when the day arrives, please let me know via comments or send me an e-mail. As I wrote when I was pregnant with Waleed, while I wish they worked like a magical wand, I have seen the manifestations of these prayers in my own life by those who have likewise prayed for me and would love to include you in my prayers when the day arrives.

Likewise I ask you to please keep me in your prayers as well. I'm so grateful to be here. So close to the end. But nothing is certain until it is and I take none of this for granted. Your prayers for a happy healthy child at the end of my journey this month would be most appreciated.

Aisha the sun bathing, slightly lethargic, polar bear

At the San Diego Zoo last month, we took a bus tour. The guide pointed out hyenas, ostriches, and penguins. We slowed down when we passed an exhibit with a huge white bear lying flat on its back on a log with its arms hanging limply to each side. This is our polar bear, the guide said, she used to be energetic and feisty but lately she just lies lethargically on the log and sunbathes. She paused. We believe she's pregnant. 

Ah polar bear, I can relate. You know how I've been saying the pregnancy is flying by? Apparently it heard. And it said, oh really? Flying you say? Well we wouldn't want to fly too quickly now would we? And then proceeded to screech to a halt. I mean, what other explanation could there be?

I'm quickly transforming from a cute little tug-boat to full-occupancy cruise-ship status. I'm fairly convinced that any minute now some confused tourist will flag me down and present me with boarding documents. Just today my son, after observing my attempt to get out of my wedged spot on our sofa, announced: mama big. mama heavy. mama big and heavy! So glad we can communicate so clearly now. He's right, though my brain hasn't quite processed the sheer size of me. I still can be seen hiking trails, insisting nothings changed just because I'm in my last month, and then getting helped up from having fallen flat on my back because of this thing called roots and leaves and gravity.

I'm also tired. Not sleepy necessarily, just "don't make me get up from this couch, I cannot physically peel myself off of it under any circumstances. . . sniff.. you pooped didn't you?" bone tired by the end of a one-hour trip to the grocery store. Life goes on. Dishes are washed, and dinners are cooked, but it all requires more effort than it did even two weeks earlier. I can't remember if I was this exhausted the first time around, or if chasing a feisty toddler who thinks pasta strainers make excellent head gear, just depletes the energy stores I might have had the first go around.

Because of said exhaustion I'm trying to take it easy when it comes to the nesting-instinct which is screaming at me to upholster! stitch! crochet! and do a million other things I have no idea how to do. Still, I keep worrying that I'm missing Some Very Important Detail about getting ready for the baby. I've purchased a few warm footed PJs and have a winter footed jacket. I ordered a new changing pad and some bottles. But surely I'm missing something that I really and truly need and can't figure out due to my foggy, lethargic, state of mind? [If you're reading with a clearer head and see quite clearly what I need, please do share]

In addition to the physical, there's the whole hormonal roller coaster I'm on. Ever been on one of those rides where you skyrocket from top to bottom in ten seconds flat? They just might rename that ride: Aisha. Seriously, one minute life is beautiful and poetic and a place of sustenance and wonderment and the next everything makes me want to weep from the way my son is growing up way too fast, the gold and yellow tree and how could it possibly be bereft of leaves so soon, and the worries of all that could ever possibly go wrong in every possibly way. Hormones are a powerful beast. Mine could give the Smoke Monster a run for his money. Luckily I'm surrounded by understanding people who patiently put up with this quite cliche pregnant person who gets verklempt over shampoo ads.

Still, I am aware that this is all temporary. My friend just had a baby a few weeks ago. We've been coordinating when I can come by to meet her newest daughter, and she wrote to me, enjoy pregnancy! I miss it. Which she's right. As sleepless as life is right now, as much as I've now given in to the state of the waddle, I do love holding this life so close to me. I feel blessed beyond belief at this incredible gift I've been given. Soon I'll be so busy I won't know what to do with myself, and soon, I will miss this time when he was safely tucked inside with nary a poopy diaper or feeding to speak of. In the meantime, should you want to hang out with a slightly lethargic sun-bathing polar bear, there's really no need to book a ticket to San Diego, just come on by, you'll find a good impersonator wedged into my living room couch.

Of one thing I am certain: At one time, I had toes. Where they went, I cannot say.