La Nena's First Birthday

Yesterday was Baby Karen's first birthday. There were two cakes and a piñata and I took over a thousand pictures.

Foggy day. 

Peaches.

Birthday  lunch.

La Pura Noche, Calderas at Night

Thick, wet clouds passed over and through Calderas in shifting shapes and with surprising speed and there were flashes of lightening that turned the night sky yellow in one instant and lilac in another. 

I read in the rooftop stairwell until the pages turned dark, my eyes strained and I thought of my mom, in a sententious mom voice, "you're going to ruin your eyes like that!"

From my perch on top of the house I tried to feel the sensation of inhaling a cloud and a horse and two black shadowy figures passed by and I took their pictures.

Debating whether of not to go to the tienda, I decided to venture out for some healthy snacks (they don't exist) and photos. I bought 'Hit' chocolate marshmallow cookies, three watermelon bon-bons and a snack sized bag of lays MAX! (MSG!)

Suly was in the store buying 7-up for two-year-old Samuelito, who had a fever and who as always, was in the arms of nine-year-old Daniella, who was playing mom.  

Hiding in a shroud of clouds and moisture, the muchachos crowed audaciously and enjoying the anonymity, talked a little bolder. 

I took a video and now I can hear the crowing muchachos, the church, the crying babies and all of the night-time street sounds of Calderas anytime I start to miss this place. 

Breathing for Baby, Two Births in as Many Days, and Pequeño Muchachos in the Street

At a birth in San Raphael our 17 year-old primeriza was 10 centimeters and complete when I arrived. There were the three of us in the room; her mother-in-law, Dona Eulalia and myself. The husband had to work and couldn't be called because he had no phone. Being the biggest and strongest person in the room I supported her with all of my strength, until I was breathing as heavily and sweating as profusely as she was.

Her baby tumbled out as it was born, but dead weight, head and arms slung forward, eyes open, lifeless and unresponsive. Dona Eulalia started suctioning with the aspirator, applying alcohol and I began rubbing the baby up and down, but the baby wouldn't breathe.

Like it is often said to happen, time slowed to a crawl, as if as a gift; a chance to act, to find the ability to do something. Feeling unlike myself; braver and more confident, I somehow knew what to do and how to do it. 

Barely able to speak, and stammering out the spanish words for, "with my mouth, suck, baby, breathe," Eulalia nodded and I put my mouth over the baby's and began to suck ropy, liquid and mucus out of the baby's mouth and into my own. I coughed and spit onto the ground. Covering the baby's mouth and nose with my mouth, I began giving her breaths of air. I felt her chest rise and catch the breath, again and again, until her eyes began to blink and her shoulders rise. Slowly, little by little, this tiny creature came to life and began to cry.

The cord was clamped and cut, and I put her upright as close to my heart as possible, rubbing her back and listening to the cry grow stronger. I've never heard a sound more beautiful and I cried with her. 

In the moments that followed no one said a word. My eyes locked with the mother's and I felt nothing but love. 

I brought her baby to her side and their eyes met and stayed that way, expressing things I don't yet know, saying everything.

I fed our mom my breakfast of bananas, papaya and water, and kissed the two of them on the forehead when we left. I came home exhausted, wrung dry and needing to sleep, but wasn't able to. 

We were called to another birth at 2 am that night. The second birth also a first-time mom went smoothly, and though I was exhausted I found all the energy I needed; somehow, somewhere. 

Once she felt like pushing our mom gave all of her strength to her arms and her chest, and the pushing did no good. Then something changed, she figured it out, got the hang of it, pulled her knees to her chest and pushed ferociously. Crowning slowly, we put her hand on her baby's head and that seemed to give her the extra bit of strength she needed. Her baby was born that afternoon, a healthy baby girl. 

We are waiting on other births. Carolina thinks we will have one tonight. 

That look. 

Our second birth. Tiny futbol player.

Kevin and his buddies getting rowdy in the street

See the couple in the righthand corner? They stand there for hours, in the same spot, every single night. Making-out and dating in the street has got to get old.

Dust, Rain, Los Pollitos, Delia's Baby and The Kids

For months it has been nothing but dust, a blanket of it clings to the surface of everything. All that was green hides under the brown, so that the landscape just looks thirsty and dull. How fitting that I am reading 'Grapes of Wrath,' the roads up to our aldea are our very own dust bowl. Returning home, the Belmont bus engulfed in clouds; the dust enters and bathes the people, covers the seats and fills every nook and cranny. Grit where the tongue meets the teeth. I wear a false tan on my arms and ankles that is so stubborn, that no amount of scrubbing is sufficient. 

The rain is coming, but each sneak-preview downpour acts like a tease. In the orchards the peaches are getting fuller and in the fields the milpa (corn) grows in eager growth spurts after even the briefest downfall.

Waking this morning to a sound like the blasting of an unkinked hose hitting the roof of the house; buckets and buckets of water fell and I fell into another blissful hour of sleep. The best sound for sleep on earth.

Delia's baby was born by cesarean. Her experience in the hospital was bad and she was gravely mistreated; one of the doctors shoved his knee into her belly, called her a bitch and told her to have her baby so he could go home and sleep. It makes me sad to say that I wasn't shocked to hear this. She is recovering well and now is home with baby Daisy and her sweet family. I will be sad when our post-natal visits in Rosario end this week.

And now we wait...three births to come, any day now.