Latest news with #Ilana
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Ilana Glazer Is Not a Chill Mom—but She's Working on It
Fact checked by Sarah Scott You'd be forgiven for thinking comedian Ilana Glazer is a chill mom given her most famous role as stoner Ilana Wexler on the popular Comedy Central series Broad City. But the real Ilana, the one with a 4-year-old daughter, is quick to recount the many ways in which she's decidedly not chill: 'When I have expectations of how a trip is supposed to go, how bedtime is supposed to go, how a nap is supposed to go…' The list goes on, reminding me that Ilana, much like the rest of us, is doing her best. And unlike her free-spirited character, she isn't using as many substances as she once did. 'Although it's nice to have a little break from reality sometimes," she jokes. What she is doing is embracing those things within her control and letting go of the rest. My childhood best friend and I had our kids around the same time and we're still tight. It's so much easier to be gentle with my close friends than it is when I'm alone in my own head. So, thinking it out loud and then feeling the compassion I give outwardly makes it possible to point that compassion back toward myself. I learned to slow down and be gentle with myself in the past five years, including during my pregnancy. It's a muscle that needs exercise and breath. I was just texting my husband because the afternoon didn't go as planned. When you have kids, they're not a plan to be executed. They're little magical human beings who need support. My husband has beautiful instincts to make space for our daughter to have whatever process she's having. And it's so much more delightful than making my kid my little employee, whose job it is to do what I need her to do. I like to plan for things and produce, so it's been a gift to see our combined parenting unfold. It's shown me how much I've been holding on to that I need to let go of. I want my daughter to make room inside of herself for whatever feelings come up. I want her to gently pay attention to them and, over time, accept them. I've spent a lot of time and money going to therapy to build this practice. At 4 years old, she's embodying this in the most beautiful way by naming her feelings. It's astounding! She's already 30 years ahead of me. I'm able to separate the private and personal from the public and professional. My career has a lot of function around it, whereas my art is driven from a need, and then my parenting—gosh, what do you even call it—is a pre-need. It's just primal. Not necessarily the conscious ways we raise our kids but the instinct to have a kid. Those moments with my daughter reward my heart in a way that's different from my career and art. I love Ilana's description of motherhood as primal. It speaks to our deepest desire to care for and protect another person however necessary. Because being a parent is not always neat and organized. Oftentimes, it's raw and messy. And we're here for it all. Until next time, Grace Read the original article on Parents
Time of India
02-05-2025
- Health
- Time of India
Breast Milk Expression room launched for newborn care at GSVM medical college
Kanpur: Newborns who need to be separated from their mothers, can now receive breast milk through the breastmilk expression facilty at Ganesh Shankar Vidyarthi Memorial Medical College (GSVM, Kanpur). Tired of too many ads? go ad free now This innovative facility marks a significant advancement in neonatal care at Ganesh Shankar Vidyarthi Memorial Medical College's maternity and child hospital. The collaboration with Harvard University and the PATH organisation brings international expertise to the project. Prof Sanjay Kala, medical college principal, confirmed that Harvard University provided two electric breast pumps and ten manual breast pumps for the unit. These devices facilitate the collection and timely delivery of breast milk to infants in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). "Obstetrics and paediatrics departments collaborated with Ilana from Harvard University and Raven from the PATH organisation to launch a Breast Milk Expression Room within the Lactation Management Unit on Thursday," Dr Kala informed. The Breast Milk Expression Room features state-of-the-art equipment and is staffed by trained healthcare professionals who guide mothers through the process of expressing and storing breast milk safely. The unit operates round-the-clock, ensuring that mothers can express milk at any time according to their convenience and their babies' feeding schedules. The expressed milk is properly labelled, stored in sterilised containers, and maintained at appropriate temperatures, before being transported to the NICU. Dr Renu Gupta, who heads the Obstetrics and Gynaecology department, emphasised that this initiative will particularly benefit premature babies and those with medical conditions requiring special care. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now Dr Gupta said that this facility was developed with support from the Community Empowerment Lab. "The facility also includes counselling services to help mothers overcome breastfeeding challenges and maintain adequate milk supply during separation from their infants," she said further. The electric breast pumps provided are hospital-grade equipment, ensuring efficient and hygienic milk expression. The manual pumps offer a reliable backup option and can be used by mothers who prefer them. The Lactation Management Unit also maintains detailed records of milk expression and feeding schedules for each mother-baby pair. This systematic approach ensures that every infant receives their mother's milk safely and regularly. The staff provides comprehensive support, including proper hygiene protocols and storage guidelines to maintain milk quality.
New York Times
06-04-2025
- General
- New York Times
The Holocaust Story I Said I Wouldn't Write
I learned that Mr. Lindenblatt was dying when I was in London this past November on business. I had awoken from a dream that his daughter Ilana, who is one of my oldest friends, was engaged. I called her up and asked if there was something I didn't know, because I inherited a witchy quality from my mother: I occasionally have dreams about people and it turns out that they're predictive or at least thematically correct. She laughed sadly and told me she wasn't engaged, no, but that her father was dying and that perhaps the thing I had sensed across the ocean was her sadness. He has cancer, she said. He was receiving a palliative chemotherapy treatment, and the doctors didn't have a guess as to how long he would live: weeks or months. Nobody really knew for sure, but the end was inevitable. And inevitabilities? In this story, they are everywhere. I hung up the phone, and I thought about Mr. Lindenblatt — his first name was Jehuda, pronounced Yehuda, though it feels seditious to even say the first name of a childhood friend's father. I thought about how he was a runner, back when it was just called jogging; how he drank rice milk before alternative milks were the style. How he would walk through the house in his running shorts and no shirt, which absolutely none of the other dads did; how he thanklessly and happily took on the burden of driving Ilana and me both ways to our losing basketball games and our even losinger play rehearsals (we were in 'Brigadoon' together, don't ask) when my mother was pregnant with my youngest sister; how he taught me to say, 'Hello, how are you?' in his native Hungarian, which has proved useful in my life twice so far; how he walked around on Shabbat with a walkie-talkie because, in addition to working at his family's camera store in Midtown, he volunteered for the Jewish ambulance service in Manhattan Beach, near their home. And I thought about the fact that Mr. Lindenblatt survived the Holocaust. In my neighborhood in Brooklyn, in the surrounding neighborhoods, too, it seemed as if everyone was a survivor. We all had the Holocaust in our past to varying degrees. We knew whose fathers were Holocaust survivors and whose grandmothers had numbers on their arms and whose aunts never made it out of the ghetto, all discussed as part of our Holocaust education at the yeshiva high school that Ilana and I attended in Queens. And let me tell you: On the matter of the Holocaust, we were educated. I need to disclose to you that yes, I am hyperbolic and that I know that hyperbole combined with the way the brain rounds down when it has been trying to make a point for too many years is deadly, but here it is anyway: In my most bitter moments, in times when I realize how much of my foundational education was given over to the war and how little was given over to, say, gym or art or the other humanities that would have helped me in life or at the very least in work meetings, I say I went to a Holocaust high school, a magnet school for Jewish death studies. I say my school taught us masters-level World War II history and also just enough math and science to pass the New York State Regents exams. I'm joking, but am I? I left high school having read 'Macbeth' not once but Elie Wiesel's 'Night' three times over the course of my education. I can probably autocomplete any sentence from Anne Frank's diary if you start me off with three words. I have forgotten more about the Holocaust than I ever knew about the American Revolution. (Again, I'm mostly hyperbolic here; lots of people hated their high schools and even more people of my generation have aged up to find that their formal education let them down in some crucial way or another. There were other yeshivas that were more focused on their students' prospects for success, and a few of my classmates became doctors and lawyers. Hey, maybe it was a fine high school and I was just a terrible student, which I absolutely was; I did fail several classes and had to take something called Business Math twice. But I recently joked to a group of fellow alumnae that one of the best parts of 'Hamilton' for me was not knowing how it would end, and nobody didn't know what I was talking about.) Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. Already a subscriber? Log in. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
