Every time we look at you we're astounded by how big you are. The clothes you once drowned in, are now too tight on you. You can now sit on Pater's arm without lolling around like a, well, um, a new born baby. Truly you have turned into a giant Avocado Hass. Perhaps we should rename you Avocado Anaheim or Avocado Fuerte which dwarf the smaller Hass specie?
But far from being proud of your rapid growth, I got worried. Are you growing too quickly? The words of friends with older kids began ringing in my ears:
"Enjoy them while you can, it won't last forever"
"They grow up so fast"
"Before you know it she'll be leaving home"
How long will it be before you're too big for me to pick up and hold? You now bathe in a seat in the bath but how long before you outgrow that? Any minute now you're going turn to me and hiss those words every Pater dreads, "Dad, go away, you're embarassing me!"
But just before I passed out from anxiety, Mater came to the rescue and showed me some recent photos and a video that showed you're just not that big. I'm relieved; you may be bigger than when you were born three months ago but you're still my little Hass Avocado.
Avocado Jnr and her cousin (older by a year)
Avocado Jnr and Ursula the Bear
Avocado Jnr on Grandma Toronto's sofa
It has been some time since I've posted, but during my absence you, Avocado Jr, have been growing and smiling and laughing and cooing. You're just amazing! But, as you grow and continue to change, it's interesting to watch people's immediate reaction to meeting you. Without fail, the first question is: "Who does she look like?"
Now, of course, I could sit and debate that question for hours and not just because I enjoy talking. When it comes to my Avocado Jr I can discuss, cogitate, muse, chat and deliberate, ad nauseum. But since you're as cute as apple pie with large eyes, long eyelashes, beautiful Cupid's Bow lips and an adorable button nose, how to answer? Modesty would suggest a shrug and a humble, "I'm not sure" or "Pure pater". But I'm an extremely competitive person by nature, and there's a constant struggle to say "Me, me, me!" and thereby win the fictional race.
Others instantly answer their own question by choosing sides, always in a most emphatic manner (usually the same people who were 150% sure that you were going to be a boy when I was pregnant). "Oh she's a carbon copy of you" or "I only see Pater" or "She's definitely a Hass". Or still... "When she turns her head 75 degrees to the right and flutters her eyelashes up in the air, while sticking out her tongue and holding one hand slightly above her chin, she totally looks like you...but upside down, clearly Pater."
And still there are those that are on the fence and dissect your face as though you were Mrs. Potato Head and your features could be pulled out, played with and then re-inserted.
Pater's no help either. Despite an ability to decipher most babies' genealogies based on the shape of their nose, when it comes to you he's clueless and keeps asking if you are really his. He begrudgingly concedes that your large eyes and full lips are from me, but as for the rest of you, he's as clueless as the old yenta at the bakery who looked distraught when she couldn't decide who you looked like.
At this point in the blog I should be writing, I don't care who you look like and as long as you're healthy, happy and beautiful, I'm content. But there's that competitive streak again and so I think, with almost one hundred per cent certainty that you are pure ME, ME, ME!
(Disclaimer: The poor quality of this clip is due to the person holding the camera, not Avocado Jr. In other words, PATER!)
The last couple of weeks have not been easy for the Avocado Hasses, but throughout it all you, Avocado Jnr, have been a joy. You've smiled when we've smiled at you (and not just because you had gas). You've slept when we've slept (or at least when Pater has slept thanks to ear plugs). You've distracted us with your countless nappy changes but also with your cuteness – sometimes Mater and I can just stare at you for hours and know that all is good with the world.
So where are you in your life now? Well you just passed the six week stage. Not a huge milestone but just recently you've begun recognising us and watching us as we move about. You've started copying our facial expressions (hence all our huge goofy grins; don't worry, we're not clinical morons). And you finally enjoy your swing set. I even tried you on super speed last night but the stress was too much for me so I brought it down to a more sedate speed. King Louie watch out, you have some competition!
Though most of our blogs to you, my dear Avocado Jnr, are light-hearted and jovial, at this time we find ourselves without humour in our heart. On October 23rd, exactly four weeks after you were born, your much loved, much respected and now much missed grandfather passed away. There are so many things we want to tell you about him, too many for one blog. Instead, below are some pictures of you and your grandfather, and the eulogy your mother gave before his burial last Sunday.
"Many of you will remember my father as a joker who never let a pun slip away unnoticed. To some he was the buddy you shmoozed with at the Y, a kiddish club devotee and a lover of fine single malts. Others will remember his mischievous, sparkling eyes or his cheeky smile. Some people here today will remember him as a walking dictionary, a poker buddy, a learning partner, a family man, a dear friend and more.
To me, though, he was dad and I was his little girl.
So many memories have flooded my mind over the past two days – and I would like to share some of those with you:
As a young girl, he would put me to bed at night and dazzle me with his vivid storytelling. He used to lie with me in bed and make up different stories every night, but I would always beg him to tell me a specific one: about a made-up character named Zene, not realizing it was a cute play on his name. It was always my favourite.
He also had unconventional choices of songs to sing to his children; instead of the typical nursery rhymes, he would sing all of us American patriotic tunes. He was so proud of his American roots and boy if anyone famous came out of Scranton, Pennsylvania, he made sure everyone knew about it. Even once I was grown up, he loved recounting whole poems he knew by heart from childhood.
Sundays for me and my dad were special when I was a child. They were reserved for what we liked to call “kids days” - when my dad and I would go out, just the two of us, somewhere fun. The zoo, apple picking, a movie, it didn't matter. Even for his birthdays, he didn't want anything and was so happy when I would hand him an IOU for a kids day in lieu of a gift.
He taught me how to play bridge, tennis and he sure played a mean game of eye spy. He was my chief editor of school and university essays, often correcting them to a level beyond some of my teachers' understanding. Even as I wrote this, my instinct was that I should send it to him to correct my grammar or find better words than the ones I am using.
His interest in my life didn't stop with university. Even when I started work and later when my husband joined the family, a shabbos at my parents was not complete without him inquiring in depth about both our work and latest projects.
My memories of my father are incomplete if they don't include my mother. The two of them were inseparable. If any of us called one of them, we always got both of them on the phone. My father was lost without her, she was his pillar and his strength. They were devoted to each other through thick and thin. Hardly surprising when you consider that their engagement happened a week and a half after they first met. This coming Tuesday they would have celebrated their 41st anniversary. 41 years together spent living a torah life, raising three kids and 8 grandchildren, playing bridge, dancing, traveling, playing tennis, laughing and loving each other.
More recently, my memories of my father include the time he spent with me and my husband. Right away he welcomed my husband into the family and aside from a few limey jokes and comments on how he mispronounces words, my father treated him like a son. In turn, my husband loved having a fellow economist and bad joker to spar with. They were also co-conspirators in sunbathing and whisky drinking when my mom and I weren't around. I know he really loved him, sometimes I questioned if he loved him more than he loved me!
When a tragedy such as this falls on a family, it is only natural to react with questions and regrets. Why now? Why him? Why us? In an attempt to find comfort I have been thinking of the positive signs in recent events.
After we were married a little over two years ago, we decided to live in Israel for our first year of marriage. Towards the end of the year, we debated back and forth whether to stay in Jerusalem or return to Toronto. We decided to come back and it was only because of this decision that I was able to spend the last year with my father. For that alone I give thanks to God.
I also see the Hand of God in the events of last week. My mother was meant to take one of her grandsons to a hockey game this last Thursday night but a sequence of events prevented this from happening so my father took him instead. This let him have one last visit with my sister's kids, that he wouldn't otherwise have had, when he drove to their house to pick up his grandson.
But my thanks don't end there. Looking back, we firmly believe that my dad's time was probably up when he suffered a massive heart attack in January this year. The combination of God's Will and my mother's heroic devotion pulled him back from the brink. And why? In order to give him ten more months in which he could enjoy another Father's Day, another birthday, more family parties, chagim, more time with his friends and even a final win at his weekly poker game. But most of all, we firmly believe he was given ten more months so that he could meet our daughter. On the morning of my father's triple bypass in January this year I found out I was pregnant and I told him my good news as he went into surgery. He later said it was this news that gave him the strength to survive such a harrowing operation. My father passed away exactly 4 weeks after she was born and we are eternally grateful for those four weeks. In that time he came over both with my mother and on his own, not to see us, but to hold his newest granddaughter. Both of us commented only last week that grandfather and granddaughter obviously shared a special bond. His eyes sparkled when he held her. Even when she pooped on one of his favourite yellow sweaters. We're happy that he got to know her even though it was for such a brief time. My daughter will not remember meeting him but we will make sure she grows up knowing stories about her grandpa and hearing that he was a wonderful grandfather, a loving father, a devoted husband, a committed family man, a strong Jew and a great friend to all who knew him.
I love you dad and will miss you everyday of my life."
Well, my darling Avocado Jnr, you got off to a bit of a bumpy start, but since Mater and Pater brought you home on Monday 5th October, you've been having the time of your life. Sleeping, eating, pooing, changing outfits, pooing some more. It's been a rollercoaster of fun!
The week began with the ceremonious First Bath. Grandma offered to help out (Mater and Pater were a little bit apprehensive of your slippery skin). The excitement was too much for you; one minute everyone was marvelling that you were the next Michael Phelps (stay off drugs), the next an explosion. Obviously Pater captured this on video...
Thankfully the second attempt was a lot more successful.
You also made your First Apperance in the Crib. Mater's not sure what's more amazing, your ability to stare at your mobile for hours on end, or our ability to stare at you (staring at your mobile) for hours on end. I say "our". The truth is that after a couple of minutes, Pater's trigger finger got itchy and he "had to capture the moment"...
You also went on your First Walk. Not much to report on that "First" other than that Mater was very happy to get out and see people and shops again. For reasons unknown to Mater, Pater told everyone he knows to buy shares in Starbucks, Banana Republic, ToyRUs and several other stores...
Later in the week we packed you and half the apartment up for your First Sleepover at Grandma Toronto and Grandpa Toronto. Pater complained about having a sore back from carrying everything but that got little sympathy from Mater! After a long, enjoyable, hectic week, we could all relax. Well, you, Mater and Pater could. Grandma Toronto and Grandpa Toronto were busy on Avocado Jnr duty...
On the sixth day God made Man. On your sixth day, Avocado Jnr, you made something slightly less impressive. And Mater decided it was Pater's turn to dispose of it. Thankfully it wasn't anything nuclear. But brave Pater didn't know that when he started and so he definately deserves points for trying!
Also on your sixth day in this world, Pater discovered that his camera can take black & white photos, and sepia photos. Oh the joy. Oh the rapture. In one day, Pater changed a diaper and discovered another reason to takes lots of photos. God probably didn't have this much fun when He created Man! Tomorrow Pater will have to rest after all that excitement.
In the deep heart of Toronto's Chinatown lies the last trace of a once vibrant Jewish community; the Anshei Minsk shul.
The building of this small but impressive shul was completed in 1930. Seventy nine years later, on September 26th, Pater entered the shul at 9.25am, having been given very precise directions from Mater (which Pater was forced to repeat out loud because Mater didn't trust him). The rabbi of the shul introduced himself and found out that Pater was a Man With A Mission. At around 11am, Pater was called up to the Torah for the reading of the sixth portion.
After the reading, the rabbi informed the congregants that you had been born and that Pater would be naming you. He then asked for suggestions as to what to call you. Pater was tempted with some of the names called out but the sweet voice of Mater rang in his ears, "I'll kill you if you get this wrong." And so it was, ignoring the advice to name you Melula and Rhoxie, that Pater told the rabbi your name for now and all of eternity... But to us you will always be Avocado Jnr.
Named for two great-grandmothers, we hope that you follow in their path and grow up to be a beautiful, intelligent, spiritual woman, full of modesty, sensitivity, humour and an awareness of your background.
Welcome to the world, our beautiful Avocado Jnr. And as if your birth was not miraculous enough, it took place at Mount Sinai. No, not the one in the Sinai Peninsula, Egypt...
So what happened? Well let's start at the beginning...
Mater and Pater first rushed to Mount Sinai Hospital on Tuesday, 22nd September, in the afternoon. You weren't ripe yet. We came back Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. You still weren't ripe. Finally, after a day of contractions and walking, you decided it was time. We left home at 6.45am on Wednesday 24th September and after a brief stay in triage, were admitted to the room you see below. No, not a hotel room, but close!
It was there that Mater discovered a real miracle. Epidural anesthesia. And this is the magic button that made Mater keep experiencing this miracle.
I'd like to say things sped up once we got to the labour room. I'd like to. But I can't. We got into the room at 8am. At 8pm we had a 4cm dilated cervix, Survivor Samoa on TV but no Avocado Jnr. Mater had a snooze until the nice doctor came in at 10pm and let us know that Mater was 8cm. Your head hadn't dropped fully but no one was really concerned. That changed at middnight when your heart rate dropped, your head still hadn't dropped fully and the doctors rushed in like an episode from ER. Your heart rate went back up and Mater was 10cm but we decided that your time for harvesting couldn't wait. With the help of a sterile room, some scrubs for Pater and a lot of doctors and nurses, you were delivered by C Section at 12.22 on Friday 25th September 2009. You had a bit of fluid on the lungs and were obviously upset at being evicted from the safety of Mater's womb so the nice doctors put you in the NICU for a day. But by the end of your first day in the world you were back in the loving arms of Mater and Pater. And that's where you're staying FOR EVER!
It's a well known fact that that although Hass Avocados can grow in the shade they are most productive when placed in full sun. That is why your earliest vacation memory will probably be of Pater stretched out by the pool, absorbing as much Vitamin D as possible.
I know what your next question will be, Avocado Junior. It's an obvious one. If Hass Avocados are happier and healthier in the sun then why, oh why, did we leave a country that has this:
and this:
to move to a country that has this:
and this:
And my answer, like many of the answers I will give you throughout your rich and varied life is...ask Mater, it was her decision.
So Pater has been asking me to post before and during pictures of the development of Avocado Junior. I can't decide if this is a way of documenting the development for the baby or for his own amusement. In any case, I clearly have had one too many avocados.
The before shot
The During shot
As you can see, we've come a long way - the watermelon, macaroni, cheese danish, rugalach and cookie addictions didn't do much to help the cause, but I say it's all genetic - or water. I mean, the "severe generalized edema" the doctor likes to call my current state - it's really just water retention, right? Nothing a few bathroom stops won't fix.
In other news, I went shopping for your big birthday party and bought lots of stuff for your arrival! Do you think balloons were too much? Hmmm... I hope you like what I got you. It's stressful, really. How do I know if you'll like nail clippers or scissors? Or which diaper rash cream you'll prefer? I guess your bum will let us know soon one way or another. I have to admit though, that I didn't care for the things I had to buy for myself for your birthday party. Please be gentle on me, okay? Deal.
See you soon!!!
Below are scans of you, Avocado Junior, while in Mater's belly (8 weeks, 16 weeks and 19 weeks respectively). Already after the first scan we could tell that you'll be good looking, intelligent, witty, a friend maker, God fearing, respectful, happy and the creator of a utopia on Earth. In fact, I have made it a point of whispering these "suggestions" to you every night before I go to sleep. I'm assured that positive reinforcement, as well as getting used to my voice, is a good thing for a baby. I just hope you can hear through Mater's belly wall. How awful would it be if you misheard and turned out mood mooking, mintelligent, mitty, a mriend maker, Mod mearing...well you get my point. It doesn't help that Mater tells me off if I shout at her belly.
Anyway, enjoy the photos as much as we did when they were taken. Except for the time that the rude technician refused to answer all my questions and didn't share in my observation that Mater's womb looks like a Star Trek episode. Not his fault I suppose. He was probably annoyed that, when he was in the womb, his Pater forgot to remind him to be a proper doctor and not a glorified photographer.
All this talk of Avocadoes...that was so week 16 - we're way past that now. I would say you're more of a watermelon at this point, than an avocado. But, you are definitely a Hass that's for sure. Not that I am suggesting the constant kicking, turning and hiccupping are at all indicative of Hass qualities. The refusing to turn around for your 19 week ultrasound, may be indicative of something.... Or maybe you are just camera shy.
In any case, we're very excited to meet you! It's a weird feeling, really. I mean, we know you are arriving sometime soon, but we don't even know if you are a boy or a girl. So it's hard to prepare mentally. Or practically, for that matter. Other than considering name options (which, if you don't like, Pater was the ultimate decider; but if you do like, I had the final say, of course), we haven't really done that much to prepare. But we promise to make up for it when you arrive...
I do know that I already love you so much. Even if you are sitting on so many body parts that cause me discomfort, leading to many bathroom trips and cocktails of antacids. Or even if you are causing so much fluid to leak out of my vessels and end up giving me lovely cankles and carpel tunnel syndrome (Pater doesn't like using such formal medical terms, but since I want you to grow up to be a doctor, I will start early). Or even if you stop my airways from working properly, making it impossible to walk and talk simultaneously. I wouldn't trade all these things for the world because I know you'll be worth it.
And if not, I'll just trade you in for an avocado.
Posted by
Pater
,
12:18 AM
What do we know about the small pear-shaped fruit that is synonymous with our surname, my beautiful Avocado Junior? Well, the Hass Avocado is the most important avocado in the commercial market worldwide, making about $1 billion a year. Not that I've ever seen a dime of that. When ripe, this fruit yields to gentle pressure. When I'm a little merry from alcohol I've also been known to yield to gentle pressure. The Hass Avocado trees have a tendency to produce well in alternate years. And that's as far as my analogy can go. Yes, I could make a link between the fruit's ugly greeny-brown exterior and certain members of my family. Or the fact that even once you get past the hideous casing, the fruit's yellowy-green interior requires a ton of salt, pepper and lemon to give it any flavour. I could. But I won't. Because that's a topic for another blog.
No, the aim of this blog is to create something for you, our Avocado Junior, to look at one day and find out why we did what we did when we did. Or something like that. Parenting is a huge adventure into the unknown and while you may think we know what we're doing, the truth is we have no bloody idea. Maybe putting this down in black and white is a mistake and will work against us when you want to divorce us and needs formal proof. Or maybe it will save you hours in therapy fees, not least because the therapist can just catch up on our mistakes on the internet. So much cheaper than long sessions of hypnotherapy.
But then again, maybe this whole blog isn't a selfless work for you. Maybe, as it says above, the whole blog is nothing more than our way of getting the grandparents off our back. No more will we have to provide detailed descriptions of what Avocado Junior is doing. A simple "read the blog!" and we can go about our business.
Or maybe this blog serves several purposes. Much like the noble Hass Avocado, packed with vitamin B and folic acids, and as tasty in dip form as it is whole in a salad.
Posts
+001.jpg)
+023.jpg)
