So much has happened in just one month. It amazes me to think that fifty-nine (59) whole months will go by and he will still only be 5. It’s a long way to go, a hard road to to hoe. But in the meantime…
We rest.
We nap.
We dance, we bounce, and we stare at each other intently. We want sleep and he wants milk. We shoosh and he shrieks. He spits and we wipe. We laugh. We kiss. We worry.
Going over our many concerns with the pediatrician yesterday, describing his symptoms, Bodhi was swiftly diagnosed. He is a baby. At this stage, there is nothing we can do about it. It is irreversible.
I’ve been working part-time this whole time, donning the monkey suit and advocating for the criminally accused. On a few hours sleep. I am slower, more quiet and more at peace.
I now see work in a whole new light. To my merriment, it is no longer the foundational, all-important activity around which I construct my being. For far too long, I have ascribed such primacy to my professional development and performance. Though often gratifying, being a lawyer is definitely not my life’s purpose. It is not who I am. It is simply my modest contribution to society, democracy and, of course, our bank account.
My life’s purpose, I am delighted to declare, is one month old, weighs 10 pounds and measures 22.5 inches.
When Bodhi is really mowing on some milk, he sqawks like a goose.
On Sunday, he saw the A’s complete a 3-game sweep against the world champs from a luxury suite filled with nachos, pizza, margaritas and lots of disappointed Red Sox fans. Pretty sweet for a first game.
Everything but his diaper had an A’s logo on it – even his pacifier.
He was awake most of the time, and appeared to enjoy all the colors and sounds.
Everyday, Bodhi is doing new and exciting things for the very first time in his life.
Last week, we took the little guy for his first meal out. Of course, all he did was sleep in his stroller. But we soaked up the sun on Paragon’s deck, reveling in fish tacos and the spectacular bay view.
A couple days later, the B-man parted ways with his shriveled and rather unsightly cord, giving rise to one of his more momentous firsts – his very first bath.
Bodhi did well, initially settling into the warm water with mild objection and then a robust stream of urine all over his grandmother’s shirt. We laughed, he cried and, in the end, he was sparkly clean and warmly embraced in a soft, hooded towel.
Later that night, he pooped his pants and spat breast milk all over his chest. This, of course, was not a first.
On Saturday, he met his great grandmother for the first time. In July, she will be 90. I was her first grandson, and Bodhi is her first great-grandson bearing her name.
She was there when I was born and, for the first few months of my life, she changed me and held me and fed me and loved me. She taught me mantras and told me I could achieve bodhi if I opened all three of my eyes. She is an incredible, inspiring woman and it was a thrill to see her hold my son.
On Sunday, Bodhi donned his Shins onesie and took a stroll up Telegraph Avenue. He bounced through the aisles of Amoeba Records, then had his first public feed at People’s Park.
After eating, Bodhi met his first stranger – a friendly rastafari who, when hearing Bodhi’s age, clutched his natty dread and exclaimed, “Two and a half weeks old!? My hair is older than him!”
We grabbed a slice at Blondie’s, sat on the steps of Sproul Hall and changed his diaper at the same spot this happened in 1964.
Monday, Bodhi went on his first hike. Inspiration Point, Tilden Park.
He was wearing a hat, double-swaddled and completely covered by the stroller canopies. He slept the whole time. He could’ve been in a closet and wouldn’t have known the difference. But it sure was nice up there.
Of course, Bodhi isn’t the only one experiencing new things for the very first time. Three weeks into this experiment and reality is finally sinking in. My mom is gone, the visitors slowed down and the flowers have wilted. It’s just me and Kate and our beautiful, brand new boy.
Alas, there’s more to this than just taking pictures and writing long blog posts. This is a lot of work. Sometimes, this is really, really hard. Bodhi can scream incredibly loud. At 3 in the morning. He requires constant attention and an astounding amount of patience.
Conveniently, we love the kid deeply. What’s more, he has Kate for a mom. In observing her selflessness, warmth and unshakable devotion to our baby boy, my admiration and love for her has swelled. Me and Bodhi are very lucky.
Yesterday, the California Supreme Court struck down the law banning gay marriage. In other news, slavery has been abolished, women can vote and everyone drinks from the same water fountain. Oh, and the next president of the United States is black.
Arguments for tradition, or for what is “natural” have been used throughout history to justify genocide and institutionalize both racism and sexism. They were used to support the ban on interracial marriage. And they are being used today to deprive an entire class of people of a fundamental civic right, a basic human right. In the words of the court, ”the most socially productive and individually fulfilling relationship that one can enjoy in the course of a lifetime.”
I applaud this mostly Republican court for upholding the constitution’s guarantee of liberty and equality with both reason and tolerance.
Two
The SF-based Presidential Memorial Commission is submitting an ordinance initiative for the November city ballot to rename the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant the “George W Bush Sewage Plant.” They believe this is an enduring and fitting monument to a president whose accomplishments are unprecedented in modern American history.
While impeachment and prosecution would more appropriately serve the interests of justice, naming a sewage plant after Dubya is poetic genius. I cannot think of anything more apt to symbolize his legacy, then tons and tons of festering shit.
Bodhi continues to be cute. Extremely, overwhelmingly cute. I could wax philosophic for hours about the magnitude of his cuteness, but a picture speaks a thousand words. Or in this case, a YouTube video.
Usha “The Human Sleeping Pill” Chhabra – 35 years experience. Mother to 3 blessed kids, a few dozen friends, hundreds of former deli customers and the occasional stranger. Can tranquilize the fussiest kid with her mere presence. Guaranteed 1st ballot entry into Mother Hall of Fame. A living legend.
Kate “Bodhi’s Mom” Chhabra – 12 days experience. Mother to the B-man, the most darling little munchkin in the world. She sings to him, feeds him, kisses his face and blocks the mid-diaper-change-pee with love, excitement and adoration. Scouts project great things for this fledgling mommy.
The weather:
70 degrees and sunny
The brunch menu:
Mimosas
Scrambled eggs with salmon, onions, tomatoes and cilantro
Banana Pancakes
Sourdough Toast
The activity:
Bodhi’s first walk around town
A two-mile stroll amid the flowers and craftsmen homes of Berkeley, California.
Sometimes Bodhi chirps like a Mogwai. He squints his eyes, yawns, smacks his lips and blinks, all while jerking his half-fisted hands around his face.
It is a whole level of cute that I never even knew existed.
His stay at the NICU was marked by both bitterness and mindfulness. Every moment in his presence was bliss, interrupted regularly by beeping machines, tangled cords and unsolicited advice. Driving him home, New Slang on the radio with Kate and Bodhi framed by my rearview mirror, I was confident that the rest of our lives would fare well.
With marked trepidation, Baxter and Sid met Bodhi for the first time.
Kate’s excitement was muted by an illness that my planter discovered earlier that morning. Nausea was met with shivers and, later that night, a 102 degree fever. A quick Google search instructed me to become alarmed and I quickly obliged.
Kate’s doctor told me that she needed medical attention immediately . Within minutes, we were back at the hospital. It was midnight.
We did not want Bodhi to go back there. He was better, he was home, and it was going to stay that way. With tears in my eyes, she blew me a kiss and walked through the doors. I knew she would be fine but this was not going to be easy. With confidence, fatigue and a four-day-old baby, I drove off into the unknown. Just me and him on his first night home.
I can do this.
Kate is told she will be there for three days. Blood cultures, antibiotics and apprehension. Three days? Can I really do this? I am already so tired.
I changed him, swaddled him and fed him some pumped milk. I laid him in bed, and we talked about baseball and camping. He was not happy when I closed my eyes. So I didn’t. All night. I held him in my arms for the next fourteen hours. Fed him, burped him, changed him and did it all again and again.
Alert and awake at three a.m., we quietly stared at each other, wondering if the other would be okay.
By four thirty, I was on the phone with my mom. She lives 729 miles from my house.
“Do you need me to come there?”
“YES.”
By two o’clock that day she was at my door with food, a smile and a luminous halo hovering over her head. Everything was going to be okay.
Kate’s cultures came back negative, her fever came down, and she learned a lot about her iPhone. She pumped like it was going out of style, impressing the nurses with her ample milk supply. Being away from Bodhi was so painful, so unthinkable, she dedicated herself to the present moment and healed amid the beautiful flowers that filled her room.
She was discharged on Wednesday evening. Exactly one week after Bodhi was born, we got our first night together as a family. Sitting here with my boy, my cats and the two most important, most amazing women I know, I am content.
It is the fifth night of prodromal labor. Kate has been battling contractions for over a hundred hours. Earlier that day, we basked in the sun at the site of our marriage.
Anticipation and sunshine are like weights on my eyelids. I’m on a cloud. Kate barely sleeps. It is morning and I hear the sound of running water. “My water broke, for real,” she says calmly. I leap out of bed like its Christmas morning. I grab the bag and pack another. Don’t forget the camera. It’s go time.
The contractions are excruciating and unbearable. These are Kate’s words. Bags strapped to both shoulders, another in my hand, I wheel her to triage. She begins to tremble. A kind and perceptive nurse knows exactly what is happening. I do not. She offers a comforting touch. Kate vomits. She is doing great, says the nurse. I am scared and it hurts to see her suffer. They take us to our room, and we are met by an angel.
Her name is Cindy and she is our labor and delivery nurse. She looks Kate in the eye and asks her what she can do to make her deliver exactly what she wants. Kate looks right back at her and declares, “I want an epidural.”
Cindy is on it. Within minutes, Gary the anesthesiologist, is telling us about the college tours he took with his son. He also does this.
Kate’s contractions are strong, and she is on her iPhone. I text the world and summon good vibes. Bodhi is doing great, so we kick back and let oxytocin do the work. We talk with Cindy about hot springs, public education and the death penalty. Cindy massages my chronically sore neck. She is constantly reassuring, positive and she inspires confidence. Kate is making incredible progress.
Several hours go by, Dr. Tuan pops in and we decide that it is time to push. Coming into this, I had no intention of even glancing below her waist. But without a moment of consideration, I am holding her leg up, Cindy the other. We are coaching, encouraging and guiding. With the first push, I see something black. That’s his head!? That’s his actual head?! Holy shit, this is happening.
I cannot look away. Jaw dropped, eyes affixed, I am captivated. An hour goes by and nothing much changes. The doctor steps out. Cindy has to tend to a call. For a brief moment, I am holding Kate’s legs alone, pushing them back, coaching, counting. Just me and my wife, working together to bring our son into this world.
Looking down at each push, still only his head. The contractions slow down. No words are spoken, but I can feel the tension growing. Dr. Tuan orders a shot of pitocin to jump start her engine. He thinks she will need an episiotomy. We remain optimistic. 10 more pushes, Kate says, and if I can’t get him out, do what you have to do.
Veins bulge from her forehead. WIth her foot on my chest, I lean forward with everything I have. She still pushes me back. Six, seven eight, he is beginning to crown. Ten. She is running out of space. He is so close.
Kate and I look each other in the eye and nod, not saying a word, but knowing that this is it. Dr. Tuan fervently coats her with mineral oil and does what he does. Yes Kate that’s it, you’re doing this Kate, go, go, go. Pushing. Leaning, Willing, Hoping. Five people locked in, singularly focused on a common goal.
PUUUUUSH! His head pours out with a gush of water. One final release, and his whole body slips out. A towering wave of emotion crashes into me. He lays on her chest, eyes wide open, staring at his mother’s face. My baby, she whispers, hi my baby.
We are in the hospital for two days. Bodhi is amazing. We stare at him for hours. This is not yet real. He sleeps on my chest. I learn about meconium. He is tested, checked, photographed and cleaned. Strangers walk in and out of our room all day and all night. I sleep on a concave cot and dream of taking him home.
Our bags are packed. Kate is in pain. She slowly and deliberately prepares herself to leave. We remain long enough for a shift change. A new nurse will be here shortly. She just has to quickly check his vitals, and we are on our way.
Not. So. Fast.
“When was the last time someone took his temperature?” She shows us the thermometer. 101.5.
I forget to breathe. Kate is getting discharged, but Bodhi is not. They are taking him to the NICU and he will be there for three days. I am overcome with fear and disappointment. I have never felt this way before. I cry. Hard.
Its probably nothing, but, just as a precaution, they want to get him on antibiotics and do some tests. We do whatever they say. I suppress my emotion. Kate does not. We anchor each other and search for a silver lining.
We are in the NICU within a few minutes and his temperature is down to 99. I know that he is fine, but we are not at home. He has an IV and cords and a screen. He is sleeping in a plastic crib beneath fluorescent lights and speckled, hospital ceiling tiles. The home we have worked so hard to fill with warmth and love is empty and he is here.
Two days that feel like two years. This too will pass. Every test result makes me smile and the fear quickly subsides. His temperature is normal, and it stays normal. He is happy, he is healthy and he is cute as all hell.
We are by his side from morning to night. Kate breast feeds all day and pumps all night. We pick the brain of every nurse about burping, changing diapers, putting him down, knowing his cues, making him happy. He pees all over me. We learn so much, and we’re getting this down.
Tomorrow morning, he will finally be home.
Gazing deep into his dark, glassy eyes, I see truth and I see beauty. I see the most convincing evidence of divinity I have ever encountered in my life. I am so happy.
Our son was born in Berkeley on April 30th, at 5:37 p.m. He weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and measured 20 inches in length. This is him.
His name is Bodhi.
Bodhi (बोधि) is both the Pāli and Sanskrit word traditionally translated into English as “enlightenment.” The word “buddha” means “one who has achieved bodhi.” Bodhi is also frequently translated as “awakening.”
Bodhi is an abstract noun formed from the verbal root budh (to awake, become aware, notice, know or understand,) corresponding to the verbs bujjhati (Pāli) and bodhati or budhyate (Sanskrit) (Wikipedia, click here for full article.)
Babies are enlightened. Unencumbered by thought, they know nothing more than to be fully immersed in the present moment. And, in caring for our baby, loving him, and learning from him, I hope to also wake up. Everything that I could possibly dream of in life is happening right now.
Incidentally, Bodhi also shares a name with Patrick Swayze’s character in Point Break. And, no, we didn’t name our son after him.
Though we certainly discourage the whole bank robbing thing, we’re totally down with surfers who subvert systems that kill human spirit.
His middle name is Vin, in honor of his grandfather, my pops, Vinni Chhabra.
As a new dad, I can only strive to emulate the unwavering, rock solid dedication and commitment my father has blessed our family with over the years. Bodhi is very lucky to have the family he has.
He is especially lucky to have a mother like Kate. With only a day and half of experience, she is a natural. She nurtures our precious baby with patience, tenderness and grace.
This is awesome. Thank you to everyone for your kind thoughts and warm wishes.
Once we get home and settled in, I’ll post some more pics and videos.
If this blog is your only source for Bodhi and Sasha updates/pics and you're want more content than a father of two babies/criminal defense solo practitioner can muster, add me as a friend on Facebook or visit my page at www.facebook.com/iamaneilfish.
Three things that make me smile
May 16, 2008 · 3 Comments
One
Yesterday, the California Supreme Court struck down the law banning gay marriage. In other news, slavery has been abolished, women can vote and everyone drinks from the same water fountain. Oh, and the next president of the United States is black.
Arguments for tradition, or for what is “natural” have been used throughout history to justify genocide and institutionalize both racism and sexism. They were used to support the ban on interracial marriage. And they are being used today to deprive an entire class of people of a fundamental civic right, a basic human right. In the words of the court, ”the most socially productive and individually fulfilling relationship that one can enjoy in the course of a lifetime.”
I applaud this mostly Republican court for upholding the constitution’s guarantee of liberty and equality with both reason and tolerance.
Two
The SF-based Presidential Memorial Commission is submitting an ordinance initiative for the November city ballot to rename the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant the “George W Bush Sewage Plant.” They believe this is an enduring and fitting monument to a president whose accomplishments are unprecedented in modern American history.
While impeachment and prosecution would more appropriately serve the interests of justice, naming a sewage plant after Dubya is poetic genius. I cannot think of anything more apt to symbolize his legacy, then tons and tons of festering shit.
Click here to join the movement.
Three
Bodhi continues to be cute. Extremely, overwhelmingly cute. I could wax philosophic for hours about the magnitude of his cuteness, but a picture speaks a thousand words. Or in this case, a YouTube video.
Categories: Family · Law · Political and Social Commentarty