Graduation

This past weekend we drove back to Illinois to participate in the 2011 Commencement ceremony at our old Alma mater, U of I. Although it felt a little strange to be celebrating our graduation so many months after receiving our diplomas, it was a good opportunity for us to visit with family,

another opportunity for Ramona to get more presents,

an opportunity to visit with old friends and colleagues,


and of course an opportunity to put on some graduation regalia and gain a sense of accomplishment.

Degree candidates from both my department and Forest's participated in the same campus-wide ceremony at 2pm on Sunday, so we sat in our respective sections on the main floor of Assembly Hall and made faces at each other through the long and tedious event. I tried to snap a few pictures of Forest from my chair--here he is in line to go on stage:
And here he is actually being hooded by his adviser, although the photo is too blurry to really show what is going on:
Thank goodness Ramona caught a nap on Paca's lap at some point while all of this was going on. I think she was thoroughly tired of having her routine wrecked by all this graduation business.
That night we celebrated in a truly appropriate way: with Papa Del's deep dish pizza. We missed you, Papa Dels, and we'll always remember you, Champaign-Urbana!

"I'm not one, I'm two!"

Dear Ramona,
Since you probably won't remember much of your second birthday, I took some pictures for you.

In the morning, we had five of your little friends over to decorate cookies.
After cookie time, it was balloon time.

And then it was egg hunt time.

It wasn't a terribly elaborate party, but I think you genuinely enjoyed yourself.
Did you get a birthday cake? Well, yes, you did. My cakes are put to shame by many mothers who create edible works of art in the shapes of cars, animals, princesses--whatever the birthday child requests. The best I can do is something like this (Daddy's birthday cake this year):
I decided since I wasn't going to make you a tremendously fancy cake, I would at least make you one that is pink. So, here it is, next to your pink flowers from Paca.

It was quite adorable to watch you try and blow the candles out . . .
. . . and dive right in soon after.

All day when I asked you how old you were, you would give me varying answers. The first time you answered correctly, but once you said "Six," and another time you said "Ten." I think you were probably being a smart aleck. The last time I asked you, you said, "One!" then shook your head, and exclaimed "I'm not one, I'm two!"

I hope it's a good year for you, Mona-Pie. We love you.

New Recruit Poses for First Photo Shoot

Upon finding out that our family is expecting a second baby, many people have asked: "So, do you want a boy this time?"

My response has been:

1) We would be shocked if it were a boy this time. At the University of Illinois, Forest worked at a lab where all male lab assistants are reported to produce only female offspring for a couple of years upon exposure. Ramona was at least the eleventh consecutive baby girl included in this informal study, and several more have been born since.

2) I don't know if I'm ready for a baby boy. They are kind of different creatures, aren't they? But if, against the odds, we get a little guy, sure, we'll take one, and I'll do my best to be his mommy.

Our ultrasound was this morning, so we got to see baby #2 for the first time. As with the previous pregnancy, I felt thrilled to put be able to associate the image of a little squirming body on a screen with all the movements I've been feeling in utero the last couple of weeks. And also, I felt reassured that its little heart, brain, stomach--so many little parts were all accounted for.

But then, of course, we got to find out a little bit more.

"From the heart, I would say boy," the technician said, upon receiving our permission to determine the baby's sex. As she moved her magic wand to the appropriate spot, however, she changed her mind. "Oh, no...looks like it might be a girl." She referred to the baby as "she" for the rest of the ultrasound, and to be honest, I breathed a sigh of relief. Baby girl. I've done that before. I can do it again--right? Ramona, will you help me with your baby sister?

Tinkle, Tinkle, in the Pot

The last week and a half there has been a lot of talk of human excrement around our house. The reason? It is potty-training time for Ramona.

She was pleased with the gifts she received initiating her into this process: her pink potty seat and Dora's Potty Book.
Here she is day one without diapers, studying up with Dora as her role model.
And here she is waving goodbye to her very first doo doo in the toilet. Congratulations, sweetheart!
And always remember, from now on:

(to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star)

"Tinkle, Tinkle, in the Pot
When you gotta go, that is the right spot."

Watch your head, Miss.

Although I wouldn't consider Ramona to be a severely accident-prone child, when injuries do occur, they tend to happen to her forehead.

When she was about a year old, a friend of mine was watching her one evening while her ten-year-old daughter walked Ramona in a stroller in front of their house. At one point, she lost control of the stroller, tipping it forward and spilling Ramona onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, the tray was installed on the front of the stroller, because it appeared that it had blocked the force of the crash, leaving my baby with just a bruise on the right side of her forehead.

About six months later, after we moved to Iowa, we were invited to a friend's home for a dinner party. Ramona was happily playing with a four-year-old girl on the stairs while I was looking on. The older girl made a motion, most likely intended to guide her along up the steps, but instead it caused Ramona to lose her balance and roll most of the way down the flight of stairs, hitting her head on the tile floor below. She suffered no more than a goose egg from that incident, but she has never been fond of stairs since then.

Almost another six months have gone by, and Ramona was due for another head injury--but this one perhaps the most frightening, for me. While she was playing in her room with a 14-month old I was babysitting last week, she fell off of her bed. Since this is only an 18-inch drop, I initially wasn't too concerned, but when I went to pick her up, I saw that she had a significant gash on her forehead, and blood was already dripping down her face onto her shirt. She had landed right onto the metal knob of a nearby heating vent. As I attempted to clean the cut, I saw that it had gone all the way through and would require some stitching. Somehow, in my terror, I managed to temporarily patch up the wound, give her some ibuprofen, and call the other child's mother, who was willing to take her son while I drove Ramona to a doctor. Meanwhile, Ramona had stopped crying and was happily eating a sugar cookie I gave her, saying "I'm going to be okay." Had I told her that? I think I had.

While we waited for the doctor in the exam room of the urgent care center, Ramona seemed oblivious of the hole in her forehead, jabbering her usual mile-a-minute and pushing a wheeled chair back and forth. I paced about nervously, but occasionally smiled with relief to see my daughter in such good spirits.

Then it was time for the stitches. "Ramona, do you want to be a caterpillar? We're going to put you in a cocoon for a little bit, okay?" I told her as reassuringly as I could, eying the papoose she would be strapped to on the exam table. For the first time, Ramona looked concerned, and said she did not want to be a caterpillar. But I picked her up and laid her on the papoose while the nurses helped me velcro her arms in. "Once it's over, you can come out and fly like a butterfly," I said, barely hiding the quiver in my voice.

Ramona cried violently through the anesthetic and through each of the four stitches, while I held her little face and desperately sang her her favorite songs. She immediately quieted once she was out of the papoose and back in my arms, and willingly accepted some stickers for her bravery. For her, that was the end of the incident, and she seems to have forgotten all about it. For me? I think I am still recovering, but it helps that the stitches are gone now and the cut seems to be healing up nicely.

Have you gone MAD?

According to Forest, it's the most wonderful time of the year: March Madness. After printing out several team logos and spending a couple of evenings recording picks, we helped Ramona fill out the third bracket of her existence (yes, she filled out her first one in utero).

Based on her preference for certain logos, her favorite teams included Vanderbilt (she called the logo "twinkle little star") and University of Illinois (she recognized this logo from Forest's numerous college sweatshirts).

But the winner? Clemson. Every time she saw the logo she cried out, "Hand!" holding her own palm toward the orange paw print.
I later realized that she does something similar when she spots a "don't walk" sign on the other side of a pedestrian crosswalk. I'm not sure if it's a relevant correlation, but at any rate, her bracket quickly fell apart when her team lost in the first round. I guess when it comes to bracketology, a fetus's picks are just as good as, if not better than, a toddler's.

When I think of Japan

Whenever I think of Japan, I generally think of things like this:

or, like this:
or, occasionally, things like this:
I also think about the people and lifestyle that are so familiar to me because, in a sense, I grew up right alongside much of it. Although I have only visited Japan on short trips and never lived there for extended periods of time, my own mother is a native of Japan. She created an environment in my childhood home that very strongly conveyed the spirit of her homeland. To this day I speak to my parents in the Japanese language they taught me, and step away from my American-ness every time I do.

These days, when anyone mentions Japan, all that seems to come to mind are horrific images of destruction with the recent earthquake and tsunami affecting their nation. A week ago, as I tried to watch some of the footage from this calamity, I realized tears were rolling down my cheeks and quickly turned off the news, but was unable to stop sobbing for several minutes. It isn't typical for me to burst into tears at the sight of something sad, but perhaps because of the pregnancy, and perhaps because of emotional ties to this country, oceans away, I felt an unusual sense of sorrow. Thankfully, all of my family and friends in Japan have been kept safe through this event, but my prayers are with those who suffer there.