Watching the New Hampshire debates tonight, I am struck by the distinct possibility that Clio could grow up in an America where it is not unprecedented for a girl to dream of becoming President, and to see that dream come true.
But my brain is awash in influences that are, ultimately, less optimistic than that, like an article on Cormac McCarthy that paints his apocalyptic vision in the pulitzer-prize winning novel The Road as inspired by his 9-year old son, and concern over the world he will grow up into; or Meryl Streep in Rolling Stone talking about the conflict in the middle east in terms of women's issues, and the problem of equality in radical fundamentalism; or the idea that the balance of power in this country has shifted in such a way that a woman's right to choose might once again be imperiled; and I think, for all our "progress," what a complicated time to be a girl.
And what a complicated time to be a woman: I am often relieved that I don't "have to" be a stay-at-home-mom; that a career is not a choice between a few support roles but instead a smorgasbord of possibility. Then, I am also sometimes frustrated that I don't just "get to" be a stay-at-home-mom, because while equality invites Dave to share in the cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing, it sometimes feels as if it requires that I share in the bread-winning. The thing is, even if partners split up their responsibilities even-steven, women will always have different burdens. I just saw an ad for a new show on VH1 called Scott Baiao is 46 and Pregnant, with a ridiculous photo of a faux-pregnant Baiao filling a kiddie-pool from a hose. This is such an old joke, but the truth is, men will never know what it's like to go to work pregnant and nauseaus, or to pump in the bathroom while holding the door closed with their foot, or to try to command respect in a presentation while their belly twists and turns with the antics of the little parasite they are busy growing at the same time. I forgot how hard pregnancy is- biology played its little trick on me- but men can never know. As I learn that it's even harder the second time, when your already-complicated life has the added joyous burden of a person who depends on you for everything, I realize that I have the escapist privilege of going to work during the day, where at least I can close my door, lay my head on the desk for a moment, and have a few minutes of peace.
Like men, as a career girl I may never know the trials and tribulations of the full-time-mom, but from where I sit, in this in-between position, it looks like the hardest job on earth. I have the utmost respect for the women I know who do it so well.
With the idea that progress moves us forward, Clio should have all of my choices and more, but I have a feeling that might just make her life even more complicated than mine, and I'm not sure I envy her that future.
Whatever she chooses, I hope her decisions bring her joy and wonder, as she so often brings me. And I hope she will continue to have moments as simple and pure as this one:
And who knows, maybe this next baby is a boy.
Clio had some adorable outfits over the holiday week, with the highest ratio of dresses to casual clothes I think we've ever pulled off. But despite the pink tweedy velvet or leopard corduroy jumpers, the plaid smocked Christmas dress, and the red bolero jacket with a knitted-santa applique (all gifts or hand-me-downs, natch), my favorite outfit of our holiday stay was actually Clio and Nonny in their coordinating polar-fleece sweatsuits. 
With coordinating "babies."
I fell down the stairs the other night, just slipped on my pants leg and slammed down half a flight.In the moment, the scariest thing was that I was in the process of calling my mom, and when I slipped I had already hit "send" - I could only imagine the panic of answering the phone and hearing commotion, and your daughter yelling out. I arrived at the basement floor in a heap, holding my head, sobbing, and trying to communicate to Dave that he needed to take the phone and let my mom know I was okay.I bruised my butt pretty good (and guess what? it turns out stretch marks don't bruise, so I have this giant, dark purple circle striated by white- another fabulous side effect of having Clio), and my elbow doesn't quite want to straighten out, but it could have been a lot worse.When I pulled myself together and went upstairs, I said something to Dave like, "I Hope the Baby's okay."He got that wild grin and deer-in-headlights stare that I recognize from telling him the pregnancy test was positive with Clio, and said,"There's a real baby in there."
I nodded."We're in big trouble," he said.I think that was the moment this became real for both of us.This baby has already been through a lot; I did go to the midwife today, and I swear, even before the monitor hit my belly, I could hear a heartbeat, strong and true, as if to say, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.
I hear you, baby.
Last night, two momentous things occurred: my best friend Marni got married, and Clio stayed up until 9 o'clock to join the festivities. (Okay, let's add a third: pregnant mommy stayed up past midnight three nights running, for the bachelorette karaoke extravaganza, rehearsal dinner slash family-style Italian feast slash toast-and-roast, and of course, the main event.)
Now, I knew I was not alone in my love and adoration of Marni, a dear friend of 10 years and the closest thing I have to family in NYC; but it was amazing to be part of the outpouring of affection and support for the bride and her deserving groom, Matt. In addition to the zillions of things Marni does for her friends and family on a regular basis, she has been in about 27 weddings and has traveled all over the place to countless others, giving heartfelt toasts, pitching in for all the attendant events, and bringing a level of enthusiasm to all of it that is simply unmatched.
I am so happy to report that, for the past 3 days, nearly 200 people responded in kind. The wedding was beautiful, the bride stunning, and the party a blast.
How did Clio do, you ask? Well, she thought the decorative pillows on our hotel-room bed were pretty cool (until she face-planted and couldn't figure out that she was not stuck, and tears ensued).
She thought her dress (a Christmas gift from Great Grandpa Peterson) was very pretty, and repeatedly said so while rubbing her hands down the front. (My bridesmaid dress was very pretty, too.)
During the ceremony, Dave happened to sit right in front of my place up on the not-altar (I don't know what you call it at a Jewish wedding in a restaurant?), and as soon as I walked down the aisle, Clio started exclaiming "Mommy!" and eventually came up and stood with me for a while. (After Dave took her out, calls of "Mommy" could still be heard in the ceremony for a little while... at one point Marni looked over at me, I think wondering where Clio was and how her voice could possibly penetrate this whole, big room.)
After the ceremony, Clio and I were the first to have the honor of congratulating the new Mr. and Mrs. (I'm the only one who knew how to bustle Marni's dress- and it was NOT self explanatory).
In the cocktail room, Clio did a lot of dancing by herself.
We don't have great pictures, but the videographers and photographers were all over her, so maybe we'll see more in the wedding video?
She also found the heat system (a giant corrugated tube blowing hot air into the space at ground level) to be quite fascinating. She stood in the windstream and let her dress blow around her. She walked up to it and declared the tube to be hot.
See? Weddings are fun when you're 18 months old.
But not as much as when you're a grown up and a competent babysitter is watching your 18 month old at the hotel.
At midnight, we counted in the New Year with sparklers on the deck and fireworks over Manhattan.
Turns out I'm afraid of sparklers in semi-enclosed spaces (who new? must have been all those warnings about the dangers of fireworks as a kid); in putting them out, Dave burned trenches into the rubber soles of his rented tux shoes. (As an aside, doesn't Dave look hot in a tux?)
At 1:30, we made it back to the hotel and collapsed. As any of you pregnant or once-pregnant know, the belly expands at night, and as it was, a feat of undergarment engineering was needed to get me into the dress in the first place; I was unzipped on the bus ride back, and have never been so happy in my life to close the door and take off my clothes.
The law of baby sleeping dictates that going to bed late means getting up earlier than usual, and this was no exception for Clio: despite a week of 8am wake up calls, today she woke at 7; the Daddy gallantly got up and took her to breakfast. I think he knew he had no choice: this is what I looked like:
Okay, so I guess when you're a toddler's parent and pregant, there IS such a thing as too much fun. But not for our beautiful bride (who, when I last spotted her, had taken down her hair and was dancing to Bon Jovi in the middle of an admiring circle on the dance floor), or our handsome groom.
Congrats again, and much love and happiness to you.
Now, I don't want to play favorites or anything. But the undeniable fact of the matter is, Clio is totally smitten with my Dad. So much so, in fact, that The Mommy was often playing second fiddle to the ever-great Papa. All day long, we heard "papa papa papa." "Papa up." "Papa yadoo (color)." "Papa's Chair."
In looking through our pictures from the trip I have to say, who can blame her?
Papa was a very attentive grandparent, forever carrying her around, up and down stairs and around the house and inside and outside. He was forever listening to her talk, and even, I suspect, deciphering her language (or understanding it instinctively) and carrying on with some on-going stories. He did let her sit in Papa's Chair, and Clio reciprocated by kicking anyone else out of it. (Look at the proprietary look of "go away"):
But my very favorite sight from the week was encountering Papa and Clio making a little train around the basement, each with a pull toy, so a little duck followed Clio who followed a chain of ducks who followed Papa.
Clio could play this game for hours. And Papa, bless his heart (and patience), was happy to indulge her.
It was time.
The last time I cut Clio's bangs, I tried for my original technique of simply pulling them up and snipping across while she was distracted. However, I forgot one crucial little thing: the need for Clio to be still. What ensued essentially amounted to running with scissors... at the baby. Fortunately, the results were no worse than a butchered bang job., which you can kind of see here:
With all the family events of the past week, and adorable holiday outfits for each, it seemed fitting that we clean things up a bit. (Plus, of course, there was the trouble with the vaseline-sticky face.) So we went to Kid's Cuts, a chain in MN recommended by the Hewitts for their expertise in distraction methods as well as actual hair. Clio took the whole thing VERY seriously.
The Before ( agorwn-out, scraggly mess):
The Setup:
The Process (serious business!):
The After (like a Campell's Kid from the 40s!):
The Reward: 
She also got a certificate of First Haircut, which I would consider scanning and including here if our scanner had not broken, ironically, the day Clio was born.
It's true what they say: it's cold in Minnesota. Lucky for us, over the 9 days we were there, it snowed about 10 inches, giving us a very white christmas.
With nowhere special to be but home, this winter wonderland was a delight- one that we enjoyed mostly from inside.
Snowy Day is one of Clio's current favorite books, and we did try out her new snow pants for a little backyard adventure.
She wasn't so into the snow itself, but thought the shovel was pretty cool. She also spotted the swing we mounted under the deck for her birthday party, and as an equal-opportunity swinger, thought it would be a good idea to check it out in spite of the snow and ice in the seat. (I guess that's what snow pants are for, huh?)
Of course, what comes with snow and cold but the occasional runny nose? We're not actually sure if the weather or teething is to blame, but during our first few days, Clio's nose and cheeks got so raw, I had to slather them with vaseline on a regular basis. Clio actually thought this was great, and would point to her nose and say "nose," which usually just means that she is identifying a body part, but somehow she created new intonation to mean "I need cream on my nose, please." The only bad side-effect? Her hair kept getting stuck to her face, so we had to try pigtails, which she hated, but I kind of loved.
(more on the resulting haircut, later.)
Luckily, she got two fabulous hats for Christmas, a cool bear hat that Uncle Derek picked up in Japan (he liked that wearing it backwards created "two people" - except, of course, that one of them is a bear)
and a gorgeous hand-knit vision in orange from great-aunt Molly, which Clio repeatedly took on and off for the next two days.
Due to technical difficulties, it has now taken 3 days to actually load all of these photos. I just re-read this post and discovered that it is pretty boring. I'm rusty, I guess. But it was great to hear from several of you that you have missed reading Clio Confidential on my little hiatus. Once I sort through the 400 pictures from our trip (that's right, 400 pictures in 9 days), I should be able to put together a few of the better stories. Bear with me!
