Cartilla: Check!

We got Hanix his cartilla yesterday! That's his health insurance booklet, because kids are covered by public insurance in Mexico through age nine.

I thought it would be more of a challenge than it was. I was pleasantly surprised.

We started by going to the Centro de Salud here in town. The crabby ladies there told us to go to Jocotepec, the municipal capital. Yesterday we made it there and made it to the right office on only the second try. We were sent away to get photos of Hanix, and then came back and Hernan got it all taken care of piece o' cake. Apparently we were supposed to have a heap of documents with us in order to get him registered, but for some reason all we really needed was his photos.

I guess anyone, with our luck, could have shown up with a photograph of a baby and gotten the insurance card.

Sometimes it's so ridiculously hard to take care of paperwork here in Mexico, and other times it's surprisingly easy.

In other news, it's totally rad to have a sister come visit - especially one who tidies up your mess for you while you're stuck nursing for hours (or blogging). Thanks, sis!

Roach Slum

I’d like to begin this post with the claim that I am not a filthy person. I might be messy, but I like to think that my mess is generally a clean mess. Sure, my housekeeping may have declined during these last few busy months, but … but … I swear I’m not that dirty!

Apparently our house is now a cockroach slum. Actually, it's probably more like a resort. I hate them. After finding one of them living in my beer mug (jerk!) I’ve now encountered many more. We’ve killed five or six grown ones. And of course “we” means I find them, and Hernan kills them. But I’ve killed probably three times that many baby roaches. I think that’s what they are. Little mini-roaches that come out to kick it in my kitchen sink at three in the morning. And yes, I hunt them down in the middle of the night. Every time Hanix wakes me to nurse I then make a little trip to the kitchen to see whether I can kill any of the suckers. I hate them.

I just discovered one (or more) has been living up in my blender. Yeah, in the machine part. The very blender I’ve been using to make sauces and curries. (Sure, they’re not in the part of the blender where the food goes, but still!) I just gave the thing a few good shakes and out cascaded a veritable shit-ton of roach poop.

If you know me you can imagine how unhappy this makes me. I’m distressed.

So I consulted my friend The Internets, and in particular my friend Wikipedia, and they told me quite a bit about the funky yucks. Apparently a happy roach emits pheromones to attract other roaches. Basically, it broadcasts the location of the swank roach resort it just happened upon. And then I guess all its cousins come swarming. Also, no matter how clean I make my house, I’m still up for a battle because apparently they can live for a month without food. And when I say “without food”, bear in mind that they eat paper and the glue off stamps and all kinds of stuff. How am I going to get rid of all the paper in my house?!

I hate them.

This would be easier to handle if I thought they just wandered in once in a while, but to know they’re infesting my kitchen, inviting all their buddies, and laying eggs really raises the yuck factor.

If I so much as see one anywhere near Hanix I’ll go ballistic.

Uhg. So the battle continues.

I hate them.

Also, I may not post as much this coming week because my sis is coming out. Three cheers for that! Yay!

Welcome, sis, to my roach infested abode!

Side Jobs

It sometimes seems that everyone in town has a side business. They sell chicken out of their house or ice cream out of the back of their pickup.

To bring in some extra money, my brother-in-law and his wife have started selling food out front of the house on weekends: pizza, Saturday nights; sandwiches, Sunday afternoons.

To bring in some extra money (actually, there's nothing "extra" about it), Hernan and his cousin have decided to start cutting hair in the shop my mother-in-law runs out of the house.

They applied some fresh paint, put up some mirrors, and moved some of the display cases into the living room - pushing the living room furniture back further into the house. It's been quite the rearrangement.

They're planning on cutting hair for men and boys, both regular cuts and buzzed-in designs, like stars and lines, which is all the rage among the teenage boys in town.

They have had a few customers, and yesterday they each made about eight dollars in pesos.

I kind of like the idea of the barbershop, but I doubt we'll make much money from it, since each cut runs about two dollars. Also, as I expected, Hernan and his cousin are spending the whole weekend hanging out on the street in front of the house surrounded by teenage boys and old men who like to tell stories about themselves.

My mother-in-law has her shop; my brother-in-law, his weekend food stand; Hernan, his barbershop. Now I have to come up with my side business...

MX Birth Certificate: Achieved

I got Hanix's Mexican birth certificate this week. We're one step closer to getting him his US passport.

I was going to go back to the office on Monday, but I'd heard, by word of mouth, that the clerk wasn't going to be there. It seems the office is open pretty much when she feels like working. Love me the word-of-mouth network, though. It's the positive side to "all-up-in-other-people's-business gossip".

Next step, getting his Mexican health card thingy. Should find out what exactly that's called. I do know we have to go to Jocotepec to get it, since that's what the grouchy ladies in San Juan's tiny clinic grumbled at my husband and me.

I'm going to make an appointment with the US consulate in GDL, too. Maybe Monday.

Cockroach Doodie

I never unpacked a couple of boxes of kitchen things because I had nowhere to put the contents besides the floor. I'm still waiting on shelves or cupboards in the kitchen. I think I'll be waiting a while. In the meantime I put up a swank board and cinder-block shelf on the counter (classy!) and a sizable shelf along one wall. The shelf we got from my sister-in-law when she moved away.

So now that I have this shelf I thought I'd unpack another box of kitchen things.

La-dee-da. Unpacking. Putting glasses and bowls and things on the shelves. Ah. So nice to see my old things after about a year. Familiar, nice things. Unpacking. Unwrapping things. ... Wait. What's all this brown... it's poop! Dry poop crumbs all over everything!

I can only guess it's cockroach poop. I'm pretty sure I don't have rats or mice in my kitchen, but cockroaches: we found another one just last night.

So then I found it. Inhabiting one of my beer mugs with it's dirty, poopy, antennae-y, crunchy, faceless, scurrying, filthy, cockroachy self.

Because I'm not squeamish, or irrationally cowardly, or ridiculous in any way, I covered the beer mug with another dish and am waiting for Hernan to come home and kill it. I know. Totally absurd. "But they're yucky" I say.

So if Hanix continues to nap (unlikely) I'm going to endeavor to wash every last surface, dish and chopstick in the kitchen.

Stupid, scurrying, faceless, antennae-y vermin.

Don't Nurse My Baby

Hanix has been on an eating binge the last two days. He pretty much constantly eats. I'm talking hours on end. It's kind of scary. He'll eat for an hour, fall asleep for five or ten minutes with his belly all disgorged, and wake up ravenous. What gives?

Is he about to have another growth spurt? Is he about to grow another foot in length? Was he just thirsty? Does he have a drinking problem?

So in an effort to get him to nap, I took him out to the highway, where, as I've mentioned, he is soothed by the traffic noise.

I was out there doing my paces with the Eating Machine when Hernan's cousin passed by. She lives next door. She asked to hold him, and then, before I knew it, she's taken him into her house next door. I was left standing alone in the street.

I went back in the house and sat down before realizing I wanted my baby back. Synapses may not be firing like they used to. Have I mentioned my four hours of (interrupted) sleep every night. I'm running on empty, folks.

So I went next door to retrieve my son only to find this cousin nursing my baby.

Shock!

I didn't know what to think.

Who just grabs someone else's baby and then nurses him???

She and I are really not that close.

Maybe this isn't a big deal, but maybe it is. I'm pretty sure she's not taking any medications and hadn't been drinking or anything. But! But! But! Don't nurse my baby!

I question myself about my reaction. Is this some kind of prudish American repulsion?

But! But! Don't nurse my baby!

I've decided it surely did him no harm, but I still don't want it to happen again. If nothing else, it could interfere with my own milk supply, which has to keep up with his (ridiculously high) demand. Is that oversharing? Sorry.

But it really weirded me out.

Seriously. Don't nurse my baby.

New Friends

My plan to use my adorable and plus-sized bzby to lure people into friendship is already working. Yesterday I made five friends.

Sure, they're aged four to seven, but I still consider this progress.

While taking Hanix, the Eating Machine, for a walk on the back road, a little girl and a little boy on bikes (hey! I like bikes too!) called out to me "What's his name?" Then we fell into a riveting conversation about our names and how many siblings we all have and how old everyone is.

This kind of conversation is just my thing because I can understand and answer all the questions directed at me.

When their younger, bicycle-less siblings caught up with them, I made three more friends.

Maybe they'll introduce us around, and then Hanix and I will become the most popular mother-son team in San Juan. We'll be invited to all the birthday parties. I can hardly wait.

The Evil Eye

Evil eye is also a risk to my baby, not just goblins. This morning over breakfast Hernan and his mother explained how one can get evil eye and what one has to do to get cured.

Babies are very vulnerable to the evil eye. Certain individuals, just by looking at a baby, can make him sick..

Hernan recounted how he was once cured of the eye affliction. When he was a boy he came down with an assortment of evil eye symptoms: vomiting, diarrhea, dizziness. He was carried down the street to where “Goya” sells tacos. She took him in her arms and made the sign of the cross in reverse over his wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, legs, face, mouth, head and torso, and back. Apparently she repeated making the sign of the cross in reverse over all these parts. Then she puffed on her cigar and blew the smoke in his face in the sign of the cross in reverse, and then did the same over his whole body. Then she had him drink something that contained alcohol and tobacco (and who knows what else). After this, he was able to walk home alone, fell asleep, and woke up feeling fine.

My mother-in-law explained that while she didn’t really believe in the evil eye, it was much cheaper to go down the street to Goya than to bus to Jocotepec and pay a doctor. She said she doesn’t know why, but on various occasions her kids were cured in this way. She said, “And why not go there first? If sometimes it worked and only cost 5 or 10 pesos. If they stayed sick, well then I would take them to the doctor, but since sometimes going to Goya worked, why not try that first?”

Fair enough.

Goya still cures evil eye in this way. I can’t say, though, I’ll be using her services if Hanix comes down with something. I think we’ll try the doctor first. I have reservations about giving my baby tobacco and alcohol.

Goblins Will Steal My Baby's Soul

My baby likes the street. Whenever he's fussing and I can't get him to settle, I just walk him out front to the highway and he calms right down and falls asleep. I think he must feel lulled by the passing traffic, people hollering, and gas truck jingles.

So I took him out the other day to walk him along the highway, and I decided that, for a change, I'd cut back behind the house and go down to the lake, which is only a matter of feet from our house. As I'm walking there on the back dirt road, some woman, a total stranger, with two kids in tow, yells at me. "Where are you taking that baby?" Well, she said it in Spanish, but I'm translating for you. No one yells at me in English, except occasionally, when they holler "Hello! I love you!" or "Hello! Where are you from?"

So Stranger Lady yells at me. I say I'm just going down to the lake.

Look of horror passes over Stranger Lady's face.

She then explains to me that I am not to take my baby down there, it's very dangerous, no way.

I'm thinking "Dangerous? A mean dog? A bunch of drunk borrachos? Hepatitis A?"

"Don't take your baby down there! No, no, no. The goblins will get him. They'll grab him and make him sick. They'll take his soul. No. Down there - that's where the goblins live."

Ah... Stranger Lady is also very superstitious. Ok, Crazy Stranger Lady, get away from me and my baby.

So I replied "Ah... I see. I didn't know. Thank you for the warning." and then went back to the highway where Crazy Stranger Lady wouldn't bother me anymore.

Drug Dealing

So the latest gossip is that Hernan, his kid brother, some cousins and other friends are growing and selling weed.

As I heard it this morning, the story goes like this.

The police were trying to catch some guy (I don't know who or for what reason), but they failed, which is common here in town, because no one wants to tell the police where the criminals (a.k.a. their cousin, neighbor, buddy, brother-in-law) disappeared to. Some kid that hangs out with my teenage brother-in-law found it humorous and whistled a mocking tune at the po-po.

The police took offense and decided to arrest this kid. Some people in town, probably bored out of their minds (because aren't we all?) saw the police pickup go by with him in the back. Somehow the gossip has now developed - They grow it in the mountains, and when two of our cousins go running up there every day, they're actually watering the plants. When these kids come over to play video games in my brother-in-law's room, they're actually bagging it. And when Hernan drives to work in his truck, he's actually out selling.

Got to love the small town, bored out of your mind, up in everybody's business gossip.

Watching the World Go By

Two very old VW bugs just rolled up in front of the house (to visit the beer store across the street).

Each contained the following:
- a rather portly driver
- a slim, sun-hatted lady passenger
- a tall, lanky, sun-spectacled fellow
- two teenage girls
- one or more children

Clown cars? Or Tapatios out for a Sunday drive?

Beer: We Meet Again

My sister-in-law is moving to the US (lucky!) and to send her off we went out for beer.

During my pregnancy a microbrewery opened up in Ajijic, tempting me with its beery allure. (the post) I abstained, but planned to fit in a frothy pint as soon as I could squeeze one in between nursing. However! Evil Beer Temptress up and closed down just about the time Hanix was born. Total Fail.

Yet, we discovered that the Ajijic local was just a venture by the established microbrewery in Tlaquepaque (near Guadalajara). So, we rounded up the fam and headed to The Beer Lounge. http://www.beerlounge.com.mx/ We were my sister-in-law, her eight-year-old son, my brother-in-law, his wife and 2 month old baby, my mother-in-law and Hernan and Hanix and me. Three cheers for babies in bars?

This was my first trip to Tlaquepaque, which is sort of a style-y swank area being eaten up by Guadalajara. The Beer Lounge was totally decent, though I was suspicious of their fruit beers. If I wanted to eat a pineapple, I’d eat a pineapple. I drink beer, because I like beer. Don’t mess with it. But maybe I was only unwilling to venture into Fruit Beer Land because it had been so long since I’d had a “real” beer, and that’s what I had come to drink.

I had a porter. It was delicious. I had just one, because after 10 months of no alcohol I’m a total light weight.

The bar played internationally recognized songs by Michael Jackson, Pink Floyd, the Beatles, and so forth. That was fine with me; it was a nice break from banda.

So, will we be going again? Aye.

Beer, it’s nice to get to know you again.

Birth Certificate for the Gremlin

Today we walked down to the local Some-kind-of-governmental-office-or-another to get Hanix's Mexican birth certificate. This was our second trip because the first time we forgot to bring a translation of my birth certificate (which I had to order from the States, because I hadn't a clue where this document had gotten itself off to). The first trip was just a dumb mistake, and we knew better, from having asked around and because I read Amanda's blog Borders Aside and she's great about documenting the ridiculous process of getting her kids' paperwork in order. (Thanks, Amanda!)

Today we went again, dragging along my mother-in-law and a friend of Hernan's, because we need two witnesses. We also had to have the baby with us (check.) and needed birth certificates (in Spanish) for both Hernan and me, a document of Hanix's birth from the hospital where he was born, our passports, similar credentials for the witnesses, and ... our marriage certificate, which we didn't have with us either.

However, the plus side of living in a village where everyone knows one another is that the lady at the desk was cool with it and told us to just drop by on Monday with the marriage certif, and she wouldn't even make us translate it into Spanish. Nice. So Monday we should be able to pick up his birth certificate. ("Should". I never assume things'll work out so easily down here.)

The other great thing to note about this government office is that they're only open from 11:00 until 2:00.

Also great: I can walk there from my house, because, well, I live in San Juan Cosalá.

Not great, I have to jump over the "sewage creeks" to get there, because, well, I live in San Juan Cosalá.

My Baby: The Giant

So holy tamole, but I mean big. Hanix was 4 kilos at birth (8.8 pounds, which I think is 8 pounds 13 ounces) and 20.5 inches long. It’s been seven weeks, and he’s already 8 kilos (17.6 pounds, or 17 pounds, 10 ounces) and 24 inches. So, in less than two months he’s doubled his (already significant) weight and gained three and a half inches. He’s huge!

I feel like I missed out on having a newborn and went straight to having a 5 month old baby, in size anyway. I never got to admire the tiny little toes and the delicate features, because he was born big and got on with getting big from day one. They say breastfed babies often lose a little weight after birth, but I’m fairly sure he never did. They also say kids grow up fast, but really? You’re kidding. I hope he slows down a little bit at some point. He’s massive! My friend The Internet agrees with my on this.

Maybe he’ll be a superhero.
Or at least he’ll be able to reach things off the high shelf for me, you know, by the time he turns three. Actually, if he keeps gaining an inch every two weeks, he’ll be taller than me by the time he’s seven.

By the way, these measurements could be a little off, since we measured him here at the house with Hernan’s tape measure and (ready? ready? … wait for it…. ) the pig scale. Yep, here in our house we have a big metal rod with a hook used for weighing pig carcasses. Yep. We also conveniently have hooks in a ceiling beam from which to hang this scale. If you’re wondering how we weighed a baby from a hook, we used the rope I used for slack lining and made a swing. If you’re wondering why we have a pig scale in our house… you’re not alone.

But he seems to be doing well. He just chuckled in his sleep, which was adorable. Though, it was a pretty nerdy chuckle, so I’m glad he’ll be big enough to defend himself as he gets older. And yesterday he said “goo”, which happened right after I asked him “How are you?”. Clearly he was saying “good”. Obviously, my baby is not only huge but also a genius who can already speak English. (I’ll have to ask him again in Spanish and see if he replies “bie”.) Then he said “boosh” and later “goo” again. I’m working on getting him to say funnier words like “pizzazz” and to repeat the funny lines from movies. I’m also working on teaching him “My mama is so fly”. I’ll update the blog when that happens.