when did Henry get so tall

It is amazing how tall Henry has become. It really seems like he grows a couple of inches every week. He is tall, lanky and very  handsome.

Looking back at his  baby pictures, I am taken with his cuteness. What an adorable child -bowl cut blond hair,  saucer size blue eyes.

 

I remember falling in love with him the moment I saw him at the hospital the day he was born. At that point,  his hair was jet black and he looked like a character in a Sendak book - Pierre as a baby.  I remember the clear plastic bassinet being whisked down the hall and seeing the baby Henry.  It was love at first sight.

 Now,  he towers over me,  and tells me how to properly pour a can of soda.

 Yesterday, I called to see if he were home - Yes, he was home and was desperate for food - "Can you buy us  two pizzas?". " Two pizzas?", I replied. how come so much. " Well, I need one, and Jack and Ian will eat the other..." he replied.

 I bought them two pizzas and gallons of Root Beer and Pepsi. I delivered the pizza and he sat down to eat them with his friends  They were busy watching a movie,  and I overheard Ian say  "it's incredible what great films the Japanese make..."

Sitting, watching Henry devour his pizza pie, I wondered again, when did he become so tall.

It seems like it happened over night.

The Children's Museum

I have wanted to be a mother for a long time now. I was reminded of that today when I took my niece to the children't museum in Manhattan, a wonderful, inventive place filled with educational and artistic interactive exhibits. I had spent so many hours in that place with my nephew when he was 4,5 and 6 years old. He is now fourteen years old, and bearly gives me the time of day, except to ask for money or to buy some pizza.

I remember enjoying my time with him there as well as feeling the longing to be a mother myself - and for that matter, to be married. I envied all the moms and dads with their beautiful children - and although it was fun to pretend that my nephew was my "own", It still stung not to be a mother myself. Time passed, boyfriends came and went, and came and went again - and the longing continued. And when I met my husband, I was elated to join the ranks of the married - I really felt that I had arrived, albeit, a bit late at fortyone. Nevertheless, I was to be a wife and mother.

But alas, life is never easy and a pregnancy was not forthcoming. There was the rollercoaster of infertility doctors, treatments, bloodtests, IVF procedures, progesterone shots, eggs donated and transferred, an ectopic pregnancy, operations - and the realization that this wasn't going to work - And then the resolve to stop the medical procedures as I was getting older - and what I really wanted was a baby to love and to create a family. So the adoption process was begun with all the myriad of papers, notaries, apostiles, homestudies and general bureaucratic nonsense.

And here we are a little over a year later, getting ready to meet our daughter, Sonia ( born, Svetlana ) and to travel to Perm Russia, Throughout this process, my husband has been supportive, loving, pragmatic and exemplary in all ways. He never batted an eye giving me too many to count shots in my ass and other body parts. He has been wonderful and our marriage has blossomed through this adversity. We are lucky that way. Well, we deserve to have something to go right, don't we?

So it was bittersweet today to be at the children's museum. I noticed that many of the mothers were a bit overweight, carrying their baby fat ( baby phat) with them. I found it rather charming to see. This is something I probably hadn't noticed in the past, so busy idealizing all the moms. Of course, I noticed how many were pregnant again, and I did feel that tinge of envy, but it didn't sting half as bad as it had in the past. That's because I am going to be a mother myself. Yes, I'm going to be a mother.

New York Lifer

When you have grown up in New York City, and continue to live here in your adulthood, it is hard not to be constantly reminded of the geography of your memories. The"this is where that happened" syndrome, or the "there used to be a... but now it's gone" reverie.

It is melancholy sometimes to be constantly reminded of how life has changed. One day I was walking on broadway and 76th street, and they were removing a Duane Reade sign. Underneath it was the old signage from the Gitlitz delicatessan - It was such a poignant moment to remember the deli and the many meals I had shared there wiith my family. It was where I was first introduced to an open faced turkey sandwich with all the fixings. Gitlitz was one of many old Jewish delicatessans that used to dot the upper westside.

I think that much of my childhood was spent shopping so I have keen memories of stores that used to exist. There was a little button store on broadway that sold only buttons, thread and sewing supplies. That is no longer there. There was the old Henri Bendels on 57th street that was chock full of chic accessories and clothing. It is no longer there. There was the old FAO Schwartz on the corner of 58th street and fifth Aveue. Not the glitzy, shopping mall it has become. I adored that store and often imagined running through it and grabbling as many toys as I possibly could in an allotted peiod of time.

There was the original Betsy, Bunky and Nini, a hip little shop in the east 60's. I believe Betsy Johnson was involved with it and it had the most glorious selection of hippie-chic clothing, vintage garb and wonderful jewelry... There was the store on the corner of Bank Street and West 4th that carried incredible tie dyed outfits made famous by Janis Joplin in her heyday. That, needless to say is no longer there.

I was reminded of these past memories by the debut of David Duchovney's new film " The House of D".
Although I have not seen it yet, the title refers to the old women's house of detention that was in what is now a public garden between 8th and 9th street and 6th avenue in Manhattan. I used to pass it on a weekly basis when visiting my grandmother who lived nearby. You could hear incarcerated women yelling out the window to their loved ones looking up from the street. I was always a little afraid of these women bellowing out of that prison. And I think I was relieved when they tore it down.

I moved to Park Slope only 5 years ago. it has been a kind of joy to have no memories of the streets and stores here. I have begun to create my own history - this is where I shop, this is where I have my cup of coffee - no past memories invading the present. It's a relief to not be stepping over my past as I do so often in Manhattan - And yet, soon, this too will be a place of memory. Sooner than I might think