Genetics are nuts

Uncanny, I say. And whoda thunk the handsome bloke on the left was four months to Abby's two?

My Baby Sister, In Triptych

Happy New Year

I'll be honest, this one-month lag hasn't been entirely accidental. (My stage-mom will kill me for saying this, bu...) my sister was afflicted with a terrible bout of baby acne, and we didn't think it would make for the best visuals, so we've been waiting out this awkward newborn phase from the sidelines until the coast was clear(er).

And now, lest I let another 10 months go by, a quick accounting of the past several weeks.

First, I'm really digging Abby. When I'm not ignoring her, I find her to be super chill, and she barely flinches when I steal her pacies (I'm told withdrawal is a common part of the addiction cycle). All that said, she's a hell of an eater, snacking nonstop, and hasn't let my mom get more than 3 consecutive hours of sleep since Aug 4. (witness her no-nonsence latch just below, even as the rest of the us clown around).

Suffice it to say, she defies all Kriegel genetic traits, weighing in at 10 lbs, 3 oz at her one-month visit (that's 63%), with 75% in height and a whopping 80% in head. (To give some perspective, I've consistently hovered around the 25-30% all around).  She's also got this blonde hair and these super-blue eyes, which leave a number of folks scratching their heads. Nordic complexion aside, she's undeniably a girl version of me, which has helped to quell people's suspicions.

In other news, I started pre-school again and have adjusted seamlessly to life in the 3's. And my Aunty Donna came from Oz for a visit that was way too short. I'll miss her, but I think my parents will miss her even more — no more date nights or quiet mornings. She was a bit of a Mary Poppins, popping in at just the right moment to offer relief and make everything feel easy-breezy, for a tease of a week anyway. Now, it's back to the chaos that is our life.

Aunty Donna is also quite the photographer, so for once, we got some photos from a real live camera.

Guest Post: Naming Abby

For this post, I yield the floor to my mom, who read the following letter to Abby at her baby naming, much like she did for me at my bris.

*******************************

Dear Abby,

Hi Sweet Girl.  Welcome to the world!

When I started thinking about your baby naming, I found it impossible not to think about your big brother Jonah’s bris 3 years ago... Same summer-y season, same setting – family and friends gathered right here on 12th Street. (only now, in even more cramped quarters)

And yet, so much has changed. Your mommy and daddy have, we hope, grown as parents and are a bit more chill this time around (not that we remember much from that fourth- trimester haze), We've experienced the sheer joy that comes from watching your insatiably curious and wildly exuberant big brother explore the wonders of the world.

And we’ve also lived through some of the saddest moments of our lives, losing your beloved Grandpa Abe earlier this year, so suddenly and unexpectedly... or, as he loved to call himself, your great North American Grandpa (inspired by a visit with your brother to the Memphis Zoo).

Which brings me to the biggest difference between your baby naming and your brother's bris… not just in terms of Grandpa Abe’s physical absence – but the difference in significance behind these two events.

As your daddy can attest, I had a hard time making sense of the bris, because it seemed to me, frankly, a bit of a barbaric ritual, one people engaged in just because they always have. And yet, because it represented such communal and collective act, we (or at least I), sort of shrugged off the angst and rolled with it. (In hindsight, judging by your brother’s gorgeous shmeckle, I’m glad we did…)

Your baby naming, on the other hand, is far more personal.  And deeply relevant to us as individuals and as a family right now.

And yet at one time, I had misgivings about this Jewish custom as well – at least among we Ashkenazi types. In the abstract, this idea of naming people after the dead has always felt kind of morbid and lachrymose to me, if not just plain old Debbie Downer. 

But being on the other side of things now, there’s something remarkably healing and comforting about this opportunity, this chance to honor Grandpa Abe’s legacy by giving you his namesake, allowing it to live again in new form.

We love your name, Abby, for so many reasons. First, for the obvious: on the surface, it just screams Abe – both spoken and in print. Add to that the meaning of the Hebrew name Avigail, 'a father’s joy'- and there really was no choice. It was a no-brainer. We can think of no better, more joyful tribute to my father Abe, and, of course, to your own father David.

As for Emma, part nod to Grandpa Abe’s passions as a British historian and Victorianist. And note the monogram! (hint for those of you looking to get Abby, a Brooklyn babe with Southern blood, an LL Bean canvas tote circa 1986 or monogrammed bathrobe …)

In Hebrew, Emma best translates to Na’ama, which signifies a number of attributes, including a connection to roots, a strong sense of justice and open mindedness, an ability to verbally express oneself and to develop a lively imagination. The name also describes someone who likes to be around people– all characteristics embodied not only by your Grandpa Abe, but by your Zede Gary, your Buba Sonia, and your Bobpie Reva. Of course, Na’ama can also signify stubbornness. Go figure. (We won’t attribute this trait to any relative in particular, though you could probably take your pick and be right…)

Your Grandpa Abe loved 'little goils,' as he called them.  He didn’t know we were having a goil before he passed away, but he did know he was going to be a grandpa again.  And we take enormous comfort in that. 

As your daddy knows, there was a time back in January and February – even March and April — that I couldn’t imagine ever feeling joy again.  As I pushed you out not even a week ago — and you did come flying out in most dramatic fashion - emotions were intensely at play. Sure, there was real, immediate grief — and absence. But there was also overwhelming joy. And presence.

Abby, you are, indeed, a father’s joy… your father’s joy, my father’s joy, your grandparents' joy... After months of sadness and grief, we're truly overjoyed to have you in our lives.

Love,

Your Mommy, Daddy and big brother Jonah

When Jonah Met Abby

Upon first meeting my baby sister at the hospital, I was overcome. The muse hit, and the music flowed. 

Since then, I must say, I've taken on my new role as big brother with great aplomb. I'm super gentle, hardly ever jealous (hardly), and kiss Abby as much as I possibly can. My parents aren't holding their breath, but so far, I think I've knocked their socks off...**

**CORRECTION: This entry somehow escaped my mom's editorial review, and upon reading, she has insisted that I add the following correction: Over the past 48 hours, I have behaved badly, acting out and doing silly things to command attention.  In my parents' words, I have been 'a terror.' I regret the error. And the behavior.

She's Here! Meet Abby

After much anticipation, my baby sister arrived on her scheduled due date, Saturday, August 4th, at 11:46 pm. At 7 lbs, 2 oz, she came in exactly one pound heavier than I did, which my mom attributes to all the chocolate butter pie she ate throughout her pregnancy. Her full name is Abigail Emma Bryfman, but you can call her Abby. She's named after my beloved great North American Grandpa Abe and even looks like him in a way no one else does. While you may not be able to see it here, she really does have his eyes.

The Big Day

Of course, we didn't realize it was the big day until after the fact... but why sit around waiting on a sultry August morning when there's Zipcar, a friend's pool and a sweet raft ready for us in New Jersey? Nothing like the illusion of being in control. Even when we're not.

My mom even gave Bobpie the day off

Who knew that 5 hours later, my mom would move from this sublime state of relaxation to the intensity of labor?

How Low Can You Go?

Left: week 37; Right: week 39. 

Temperature: 92. Heat index: 101.

It's time. 

Remembering My Great North American Grandpa

It's been almost 10 months since I've written, my longest lapse yet. And quite a shame really, because I had a lot of fantastic posts brewing in my head. That was just the usual procrastination. But then, a really sad thing happened, and I lost my narrative voice for a while.

My Great North American Grandpa Abe passed away suddenly in January, and frankly, I just haven't had it in me to share quirky stories and capture the ironies of everyday life (something my Grandpa Abe did so well).

More than 6 months have passed now, and while my mom, dad and I talk about my  Grandpa Abe daily, slowly, my voice is coming back. So I decided —before things get crazy as I welcome my baby sister into the world — that I'd bring everyone up to speed on my goings on since I started pre-school last fall, which feels like light years ago. (Consider this my own version of nesting, pre-labor.)

I'll treat this as a whirlwind near-year-in-review, digging into the recesses of my brain to pull out the highlights, captured in reverse chronological order below (so scroll way down if you want to experience the year in the order it actually happened, starting with the entry called Fall!).

But first, a little space devoted to my biggest blog promoter and fiercest champion, my beloved Great North American Grandpa. I sure do miss you, Abe, really a whole lot.  

My First Wedding!

I got to be a ring bearer (read, wedding crasher among legit nephews) in the wedding of dear friends of my parents, Mel and Peter, in the Connecticut Berkshires last weekend.  Standing 2 cm dilated in 90-degree heat and in 4" heels (*her own doing, not the bride's), it's a small wonder my mom didn't go into labor. Thankfully, she stayed in one piece. And so now we wait for my baby sister's arrival. Any day. 

prepping back in Brooklyn with my stylist

To everyone's great relief, baby sister stayed put that night...

Open House

I won't even go into the real estate woes that have plagued us all Spring. Let's just say the Open Houses (that are FINally over) were incredibly disruptive to my Sunday routine. This lovely visitor neither bought nor bid on our place. But she clearly ate her share of cookies.

I'm 3!!!

First Kiss

Speaking of milestones... We finally did it. Our first kiss.

We both played nonchalant, and then I just went for it. 

She seemed pretty happy afterward. And best part, no commitment. 
Everything is still cool between us.

Milestones

I've become quite taken by a work of literary genius called Potty, by Leslie Patricelli. It's had a rather transformative effect on me. This masterpiece, which straddles something between fiction and nonfiction —combined with Ira's discipline and my parents' anamolous adherence to rules this time—has helped me master potty training rather quickly. And it's been a real game-changer in our house. The most obvious effects being the reprieve on my parents' wallet and the lack of a stench coming from the diaper genie.  Now, I go all the time in the big potty and wipe my tush all by myself. And in a pinch, my dad even taught me how to water hydrangea and other flora along 6th Avenue in the Slope. (Note: I had a photo of my very first cahkie, but my editors removed it given the high volume of traffic on this blog.) The same week I kicked the diaper, I also kicked the pacie. Go big or go home, I say.

Graduation

Progress. Apparently, I'm finding my own voice (my teachers just figured this out?). But I concede on fine motor skills- they're not as fine as they could be. And my parents are still scratching their heads over the fact that I can be a quiet observer, particularly given my unofficial role as class clown during the graduation concert (someone had to do it).

Spring

Shortly after my return from Oz in January, things pretty much went to hell in a hand basket. But even amid the sadness and grief, there were moments of levity. I mean, I hate to say it, but for me personally, going home for Grandpa Abe's funeral was probably one of my most gratifying visits to Memphis... so many family and new friends around, and they all seemed to find great comfort being around me.  It was amazing to see how loved and adored my Great North American Grandpa was. 
Back home in Brooklyn, with the passage of the seasons, things have slowly gotten a little brighter... (even my visit to the doctor was fun.) And my experience with Super Soccer Stars with my all my friends in the nabe was just epic. I basically haven't taken off my T-shirt since.

Meeting my Uncle Muni - only 89 years difference between us.

Super Soccer Stars! A Spring Sunday ritual.  And I haven't stopped talking about it since.