Levedy

Onesie Gone Wrong

Pictures available

Okay relatives, stop pestering me. Pictures available on the link to the right.

Rock the Vote

I'm putting together Sophie's birth announcements, and I need to choose a picture. Help me decide.

I admit my bias towards this picture, not so much because it's the cutest, but because she's secretly giving us all the bird: View image

This is cute, but she appears to have no legs: View image

And finally, this one looks like she's secretly giving us a modified form of The Shocker, which is funny only to those under, say, 30: View image

So please vote in the comments: Bird, Amputee, or Shocker.

My new (and only) nephew

As promised, here is a picture of my new nephew Earen. His name sounds like Aaron, but is spelled in a way that guarantees his comparison to aural body parts by other kids on the playground.

I think that's a beautiful picture of the three of them.

Head Above Water

My very first mother’s day was spent with many mothers. We had a big Ham n’ Lamb dinner over at my place with Athena, me, my mom, (big) Sophie, Sophie’s friend Andrea, Athena’s mother-in-law Barbara, and several menfolk to do dishes and barbeque. I received several cards (thanks, DeDe) , gifts, and well-wishing phone calls. It was very touching.

Except that Dim gave me nothing. That was a bit of a pisser.

To update several issues: the breastfeeding continues to be a struggle, albeit one that I have made peace with. I still have to use the shield to feed her directly off the tap, as it were. I pump regularly; so much so that I rented a heavy-duty pump for five months. It’s actually much quieter than the little pump I had been using before. This new pump could suck the breath out of a kitten. Not that I’ve tried.

The baby does still receive formula on occasion. For example, when I pumped my last few ounces only to spill them all over the rocker and the carpet. The way I’ve come to look at it is this: if, during her 50 or so feedings during the week, she has two or three formula feedings, she’s not going to grow a tail. I’m not a horrible mother if I need a break from the constant vacuuming of my teats. I don’t need to rationalize my actions to my “Breast or nothing” friends. I don’t need to respond to anyone’s agenda but my own. The vast majority of the kid’s calories are coming from me, and that’s good enough.

Sleep is caught in three hour snatches. Generally, the pattern seems to be that I do the two late night feedings, which leaves me just enough energy to smack Dim awake to do the 6am feeding himself. After he feeds her, he brings her to bed with us, and we all have a few hours of snoozing before the day begins. I imagine this sleeping-with-us business will have to stop sometime before her fifth birthday, or else she will not have any siblings, and we will provide some stiff competition for “Weirdest Neighbors on the Block” award that so far has been locked up by my next-door (and next-next-door) Polygamist neighbors.

The baby loves her Binky. The La Leche League woman that inferred the use of a pacifier will insure the kid’s future sociopathy can shove a Binky up her own ass, for all I care.

Like Brian and Atsuko (www.warrensroom.com), we too have discovered that the baby sleeps much better and longer on her stomach. We have thrown caution to the wind and let her sleep on her stomach some nights. Unlike Brian and Atsuko, I have discovered that I cannot eat peanut butter for fear of creating Much Gastric Unpleasantness for the Bean. It’s a damn shame. I miss my PB&J sandwiches for breakfast.

I followed my Optometrist’s advice and got glasses to bum around the house with. I haven’t worn glasses in ten years, and my prescription is now so myopic that, when I wear the glasses, walls bend around me. Ceilings curve away from me. Floors try to avoid my feet. Wearing these glasses has been more entertaining than the after-effects of chugging NyQuil. I have no depth perception, so carrying an infant down a flight of stairs that try to escape my footfalls is a semi-terrifying experience. I miss wearing contacts 24-7.

All in all, things are progressing nicely. The PPD only lasted a few days, for which I’m immensely grateful. I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m tired and stressed, but I know that, while this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I’m capable of doing it. If the only negative consequence of my extreme fatigue is that I accidentally shove the Binky up the Bean’s nose instead of in her mouth at one a.m. (sorry, it was dark), then I think we’ll end up okay.

I'm an Aunt!

My sister-in-law Athena just had her son by c-section. I'm going to the hospital tonight, so I will have pictures. You will like them and tell me that he looks just like me (even though there is no genetic overlap - don't bore me with the truth)

Earen (not Aaron) Patrick Alexander Mertes
7 lbs, 13 oz, 20 inches.

Hooray! Someone else who gets no sleep!

Running on Empty

So I’ve been a parent for two weeks, and I’ve already forgotten how freakishly obsessed I was with my cat. I manage to remember to feed her, and I remember that I loved her enough to make up conversations with her and attempt to dress her in onesies, but she is sooo last year compared to obsessing over The Bean.

I think the PPD stuff was temporary. I still feel like a monumental failure with annoying frequency, but I think that’s par for the course as far as the whole Parent role goes. You want the best for your spawn, and since you yourself are far from perfect, you’re a big flop from the get-go by default.

Hey, at least I haven’t put a diaper on backwards or left her on the roof of the car So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.

This week has been an exercise in never enough. I can pump 2.5 ounces of milk for a baby who wants 3. I sleep for five un-contiguous hours when I need six. I leave the baby at Yiayia’s with four diapers when she shits through five. I think this running on empty feeling is par for the course, too.

But the funny thing is, I’m okay with it. It gives me The Bean. It sucks for her, since she is stuck with me, but I profit from the arrangement in the end, I think.

Binky Capone

Her life of social awkwardness and petty crimes can be tied to this moment, according to the La Leche League Lady:

Binky Capone