by Tziri Frank

Mazel Tov (Congratulations!) and Mazal Tov (Good Luck!)

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I used to sleep. I’m pretty sure there were days, perhaps even whole weeks at a time, when I did not feel as if I was walking around in a perpetual daze. I have faint memories of the good old days, when I could reasonably expect to have five or six hours of uninterrupted slumber, which, I’m sure, must have allowed me to do countless charitable deeds and infinite loads of laundry.

But, that was then, and this is now. Because, Baruch Hashem, life has changed in the Frank household, and now days and nights are splintered into three-hour time slots scheduled around the eating habits of the long-awaited new princess, Shira Aliza Frank. Mazel Tov! (Congratulations!)

Mazel Tov (Good luck)-such a seemingly trite phrase that means so much. I recall the serious tones people used, wishing me Mazel Tov when my oldest child, Yossi, was born with severe mental and physical handicaps. And I remember the exuberant manner in which the expression was bestowed when each of my other children arrived healthy and sound. But most of all, I recollect the warm and comforting feeling that I got from hearing the familiar Mazel Tov (Oh my!) phrase, because that signified that other people took an interest in me. Well, at least they took an interest in my life-altering event of having a baby. Because, let’s face it, having a baby in the house, whether he/she has special needs or not, is the source of many, many articles (so be warned) and humorous situations.

For instance, a well-meaning husband who yawns widely when he comes home for his mid-afternoon nap. “I must lie down for a few minutes,” he says tiredly. “I’m exhausted from holding the baby for a whole half an hour last night.”

“You held Aliza last night?” I ask in confusion.

“Yes, it was after you collapsed and fell asleep,” my better half continues.

I stare at him, stupefied, caught up in the only word that matters. “Sleep…,” I echo wistfully.

“Yes, you must be well-rested. Aliza didn’t wake up at all last night,” he states knowledgeably.

I guess the look of incredulity on my face stops him. He pauses, and then glances questioningly at me, “She let you sleep last night, didn’t she?”

I stare at him in disbelief, mentally reviewing the film clip in my mind of the little princess yanking me out of bed at 2 a.m., 3 a.m., then 5 a.m. and 7 a.m; “Oh yeah, I had the perfect slumber,” I respond dryly, and then I add the only exclamation that can adequately express my feelings, “Mazel Tov!” (Best wishes!)

But enough about sleep, or lack thereof. Because today, I am focused on a whole new concept.

Remember the olden days, when we used to wash newborns in the kitchen sink? Well, that era has come and gone. Today, the latest model of a newborn bath sits carefully perched on the bathroom basin. The temperature-controlled tub is filled with No More Tears sudsy water, a pink washcloth, and the latest bath toys that can be found at Babies “R” Us. Seated in this lap of luxury lies the perfect little doll, a chubby infant named Aliza.

“Oooh, look at her toes,” cries 9-year old Ahuva, “they’re so tiny.”

“Wow, look at how fat she is,” comments 14-year old Atara in a critical, albeit loving, tone of voice.

“She’s so cute, I just can’t stand it,” chortles 12-year old Yehudis as she hugs herself in glee.

“I love that precious little girl,” asserts 5-year old Sonny (who is NOT jealous), as he reaches out to pat her, a little too strongly, on the head.

Aliza gazes up at all her admirers in wonder, no doubt wondering why they don’t find something better to do with their time. Slowly, she lowers her lids in a graceful blink, purses her lips, and after several seconds, emits a “Gaaah” and some drool.

“Ooooh, she said gum,” interprets Ahuva, “I’ll go get her some, she must be hungry.” And she’s off in a flash.

“I hope she’s not going to salivate when my friends come over,” says Atara disapprovingly, “That would be so embarrassing.”

“I think she is trying to say Yehudis,” squeals Yehudis, “I knew that would be her first word!” And she runs to get her digital camera.

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Tziri Frank is a proud mother of five beautiful children. She uses her experience with her own special child to inspire others in a thought provoking and often entertaining way.