Not Meme-ing

Nancy Dancehall has asked for audience participation, and for once I'm in a mood to participate.

Thusly:




If this were art about me, as I am right now, it wouldn't be all eyes and almonds, it would be all b00bs and n1pples. I nurse the Bug. A lot. Frequently while I do other things. It is a very large part of my life right now. I feel swallowed by it.

Did you notice? She has a name. Boy is outraged- he senses a certain, ummm, lack of that fawning tenderness us moms are supposed to have in my choice of a pet name. It's true. When I look at the Bug I do feel love and tenderness, but I also am aware of other, less romantic sentiments. I notice how primal she is. She is a mass of reflexes- she roots in search of b00b, she arches, she squinches her face while her innards do gymnastics. It reminds me of a bug, so Bug I have dubbed her. I imagine that the name will grow as she does. Instead of her being Bug because she is buglike, she will be Bug because she's cute as a bug's ear.

Also, I seems to like the 'B' pet names. Boy is 'Boy', but he's also Boo. Peanut is Bean. And now there's a Bug. It's all good.

It is bed time, and I have spent all the time here that I can afford to spend. Now that I've christened her I guess I'm free to tell you her birth story. Tomorrow. Maybe. Or the next night....

Still doing good, knock on wood,
ephelba

This is just to say

things are going well. The baby eats. She sleeps pretty well for her age. Peanut is settling into life with another baby. Boy is back in the land of schooling, and is doing good. Simon's work gave them uniforms- he has cool shirts with his name on them, and I think he looks hot. I am almost human again, especially on days when the baby slept really well.

Knocking on wood,
ephelba

Oh No They Didn't!

Yes, They did.

Well, shit.
ephelba

The week we've had.

Two days after we come home with the newest baby, Peanut comes down with a cold. This means she needs cuddling with mom at a time when mom's arms are full of nursing baby. A nursing baby we'd prefer did not come down with the cold. The cold that's transmitted by the goobers that seem to magically appear wherever the Peanut's been.

The newest baby gets the cold. Surprise. It starts out as a wet sniffle. Turns out it stays that way,but since we can't see the future we worry about her for a day or two.

Peanut hears "No!" more in 24 hours than she has in her whole life. We simply can't get to her quick enough to perform the negotiations and manuevers that smoothed her life before now. As a result, she throws more tantrums in 24 hours than she has in her whole life.

Boy, who is at his Grandmother's in North Carolina, hits his head. He gets a headache. Then he gets queasy. We sheepishly ask Grandma to take an evening out of her vacation and take him to the ER. She gets to play nurse- takes him to the ER, gets him scanned, wakes him up every three hours all night. Boy begins vomiting during the night. She has to take care of that too, of course, and then gets to take him back to the ER. He is concussed. Nothing horrible, no bleeding in the brain, but Simon and I are beside ourselves because Boy is hurting and WE CAN'T BE THERE! I can't stress how much that hurt us. I imagine it wasn't great for Boy either.

My n1pples fall off. OK, maybe not really, but it sure feels that way. I begin pumping on the side that's the worst off, and make so much milk that we end up feeding it to Peanut to help her get over her cold. I wonder what it means that I make enough milk for two children.

The new baby begins fussing whenever she should latch. Most likely this is because I'm now using n1pple shields. She just has to lump it, because the alternative at this point is formula. Seriously. The whole breast feeding thing deserves a post of its own, so I'll stop there.

On the good side, I manage to get both girls fed, diapered and napped all by myself today. It feels like I've won the Nobel prize. I'm very proud. I imagine it gets easier as you go...

Going to take a hard earned nap,
ephelba

Guess what...

Nine pounds, eight ounces.
I walk like a cowgirl now,
happy, sore and proud.

So we had another good do. She's a keeper alright. You want to keep one who takes that much effort to expel, and who changes the exit gate the way she did. Seriously.

Don't have a pet name for her yet- we call her little stink, chuckles, toots-sicle and various other spur of the moment monikers. I'm sure things will settle soon. By the time we pick a name maybe I'll have posted her birth story, a blurb about breastfeeding, a blurb about having three kids, and more. Or not. There's a lot to do and this time around I'm going to work very hard not to feel guilty about how long it takes me to get things done.

TTFN,
ephelba