Finn’s future career(s)…?

Sometimes, as I watch my son eat, sleep, and respond to the world around him, I wonder what kind of person he’ll become and what he’ll choose to do with his life. Let’s take a look at some of his unfolding potential:

Might he become a philosopher? He seems like a very thoughtful fellow:


A rock star? I think he’s got that special something…


Perhaps an actor? He’s got very expressive hands and can be quite dramatic (see pic on Nov. 9 post for further evidence):


Hopefully, he won’t be interested in piracy:


Someone told Keith that “Finn” sounds like the name of an Irish brawler:


But I like the idea of a peace and environmental activist:


He’s quite multi-dimensional! We’ll keep everyone posted on any new dynamic developments…


I’m thankful for the simple things…

Yesterday forced us to test our limits, and for that I am thankful.  As a new parent, I find myself dominated by  worry and hyper-conscious of my new limitations — whether they’re real or not.  In our effort to attend two Thanksgiving celebrations, taking Finn on his first serious excursion, I was apprehensive about how he would tolerate a lengthy car ride… and a long day.  He held out better than I did, however. While I watched him anxiously, Finn handled things quite splendidly:

Finn stares in carimg_0881img_0878

He stared at me, clearly interested in the day’s potential, peered curiously out the window, and then yawned and went to sleep.

Later, he visited with Grandma Gail and family in Boca, and then slept next to his cousin as we dined in elegance with my brothers and sisters at my Mom’s in Loxahatchee. I can’t believe I actually got to sit down and eat at the same time as everyone else. What luck!


When we returned home at nearly 11 pm, Finn stayed asleep. I learned that he can handle more than I thought — and so can I!

Future gardener?

Finn certainly loves the outdoors!  When we take him out onto the patio, garden, or sidewalk along the lake, he stares in awe at the world around him.  Although we do live in suburbia, we’ve created an outdoor area that helps us to fool ourselves into thinking otherwise. Here are some pics of Finn peering out from the baby carrier (thanks for the Bjorn, aunts!) at the lovely garden that Keith has created (see waterfall/pond featured at the top of the page). Perhaps he’ll be a gardener like his dad…

finn in gardenfinn-garden-side


The unromantic moments of new motherhood…

Yesterday, Finn and I had a bad time together.  We’ve had many cranky hours — but this was a crazy, never-ending day, and all I wanted at the time was a break longer than a few minutes.  By the time Keith got home at nearly 5:30 (having left before 7am), I thought I was going to cry, scream, drop.  I couldn’t help but think of lines from Rachel Cusk’s frank, unconventional, and stunningly-crafted book, A Life’s Work, which a close friend loaned me recently.  Cusk describes a particularly difficult and conflicting day she experienced with her new daughter:

“Her eyelids begin to droop.  The sight of them reminds me of the possibility that she might go to sleep and stay that way for two or three hours.  She has done this before.  The prospect is exciting, for it is when the baby sleeps that I liaise, as if it were a lover, with my former life.  These liaisons, though always thrilling, are often frantic.  I dash about the house unable to decide what to do: to read, to work to telephone my friends.  Sometimes these pleasures elude me and I end up gloomily cleaning the house, or standing in front of the mirror striving to recognise myself.  Sometimes I miss the baby and lie beside her crib while she sleeps.  Sometimes I manage to read, or work, or talk, and am enjoying it when she wakes up and cries; and then the pain of moving from one life to the other is acute.  Nevertheless, watching her eyelids droop, my excitement at the prospect of freedom buzzes about my veins.  I begin manically to list and consider things I might do, discarding some ideas, cherishing others.  Her eyelids droop again and close altogether.  In repose her face is as delicate, as tranquil as a shell.  As I look, an alarming colour spreads rapidly over it.  The skin darkens, promising storms.  Her eyes flip open, her body writhes, her small mouth opens like a yawning abyss of grief and pain.  She roars.  She bellows.  She cries out in anger, agony, terror.  I feel as if I have been discovered in some terrible infidelity.”