The New Girl

Bits Of Randomness Fact Friday On A Tuesday. Because, Apparently, That's How I Roll These Days.

* Instead of writing posts (which are brewing) about The Boy's birth story or my Post Partum Experience this time around (I know, those sound SCINTILLATING, right?) all I can think about is the MAD amount of TV (and new TV) that I'm watching.  Most notably, I watched the first two seasons of Dexter in three days (and then had like three dreams about dismembered bodies. Niiice.)  I became OBSESSED with this show and so when I ran out of seasons to 'Watch Instantly' (I LURVE me some Netflix), I went and got the first Dexter book from the library. Am a tool.) I also watched the first season of Weeds (the BEST EVER theme song, yo.)

* Yesterday morning I heard TLNG calling for me at 5:40 in the AM (DST, YOU can suck it, my friend.) Anyway, I was going to run in there and tell her that it wasn't waking-up time (6AM at the effing EARLIEST) and then go and feed the waking baby. When I got to her door it was cracked.  'Hmm. That's odd,' I thought to myself and when I opened the door? I saw a BEFUDDLED, STILL-HALF-ASLEEP, The Man, changing TLNG out of her diaper. Getting her up for the DAY. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVAR. Huh? Um. I'm all for the initiative, dude, but how about we try that say at 6:00--or better yet, on an EFFING SATURDAY?

* Most often, when half asleep, The Man is more amusing than annoying.  If you haven't read that post that I linked, you really should. I wrote it back when I was still funny.  The number of stories that I could tell about The Man leaping out of bed half [dressed and half] asleep to rescue someone is impressive but sadly, probably such a telling is verboten. 

* I hate my dog again.

* Guys, my son is 6 weeks old and I just had to buy him a whole slew of 3-6 month clothes.  And size 2 diapers.  What the hell, kid?  My daughter, you know, the TODDLER?  Two and a half, almost?  Weighs like 25 lbs. and my son weighs TWELVE POUNDS. OMFG. Half her weight.  He has also grown a whole inch since he was born.  He's 23 in long.  How is it possible to have one kid be a peanut and the other be a monstah?

* At the 6 week post-partum mark, I'm starting to have a few *body image(ish)* issues.  Not really bad, just, well, you know.  I don't feel motivated to DO much about it and the clusterfuck that my week of sleep is makes it hard (for me) to want to do anything but eat and sloth (when not bouncing or otherwise infant-toddler wrangling.) I didn't really have much of a pooch last time but this time, WHOO BOY.  Tis a little, er, FLAPPAY.  Hmm. I have decided that a daily dose of 457839058 packages of M&M's is probably not a great idea and so for now, I'm trying to just keep track of what I'm eating and do as much as I can (so far that's a couple minutes of stretching.)  

* We have also had (recurring) issues with The Thrush that make me want to throw myself off a bridge.  If you're on twitter, you know that this resulted in a [totally MORTIFYING] mildly embarrassing exchange with my new doctor, in which I told him the baby and I had The Thrush and he looked in my MOUTH, when, you know..it's on my nipples (hate that word.)  Since I couldn't bear to say the word aloud, me notifying him involved pantomimed circular motions with my fingers a la Kelly Le Brock in Weird Science and he grinned and told me that it's only called The Thrush if it's in your Mouth. M'kay.

* I think because I have the name 'Girl' in the blog title (and I curse a lot,) I get super-gross Search Engine Hits.  Today there was this one: 'Girl giving finger,' which took The Google Perv to this post.  HA HA HA! Sometimes ESL is a bitch, yo.

One Month. Give Or Take. In Other Words, It's Already Started.

If you're keeping track, you'll no doubt notice that The Boy is 5 weeks old by now (how did THAT happen?)

Anyway.

The 'Second Kid Getting The Shaft' has already begun, I suppose. 

He's a hefty, refluxy, crusty, squeaky little guy who is losing his hair.  I'm getting to know him but it's really like my friend Swistle says. He's like a little stranger.  It is bizarre in a way and in another way, I'm sure it's the most natural thing in the world.

The differences between him and TLNG are numerous.

But still, there are similarities.

Here's a picture of my girl at one month old. (Probably published Right On Time.) 

I think her eyes are rounder and it's hard for me to tell who he is going to look like yet but I see a likeness.

 

Except that he's like TRIPLE her size.

GEEZUZ.

Ding Dong. Who Is It?

Flowers for MumbleMumble.

Who is it?

Plumber.

........

.

.

Candygram.

Action.

Her: 'Can I watch a show, Mommy?'

Me: 'No. It's not time yet.  Find a toy to play with.'

Her: 'Can I watch a show, Mommy?'

Me: 'No. Not right now. Go and find a toy, please.'

Her: 'Can I watch a show, Mommy?'

Me: 'No, baby. Don't ask me again.'

Her: 'Can I watch a show, Mommy?'

Me: 'Honey. No. Please don't ask me again. Find a toy, please.'

Baby: 'Waaaah. Waaaaaaaaah. WAAAHHH.'

Her: 'Can I watch a show, Mommy?'

Me: 'Go. Find. A. Toy. Please.'

Her: [Gets into every fucking thing imaginable.]

Me: 'Hey! You wanna watch a show?'

AAAAAAAND

Scene.

Pretty Soon, I Imagine You'll Demand Payment For Reading Here.

Three weeks into having two kids and I am at a loss for what to tell you about it.  I'm feeling blocked and flooded all at once.  There is so much swirling around that it's hard for my mind to settle and focus on one or two things to write about.  There is so much about this experience that I want to share (and save for posterity) but, you know, I'm feeling a little ovahwhelmed at the moment.

There's laundry to fold! and bills to pay! and pictures to download! and things to pick up off the floor! and OMFG LAUNDRY! And THAT'S just all the shit I have to do before either of the kids enters the picture.  For fuck's sake.  (Not like you guys don't already KNOW this--I'm just saying.)

I'd love to write the birth story.  It was a good one.  Or, maybe I'd like to tell you about the things that are easier than I thought they'd be (there ARE some, for real).  Or the things that are harder.  Or whatever.  Anything.  I really [envy] admire those people who have seismic life changes and keep on writing. 

Having an infant around has been such a trip, though.  I forgot FORGOT! the middle-of-the-night pooping. Geezuz. And how many diapers they go through.  Or the machine-like quality of their eating/pooping/sleeping regime.  How little connectedness there is, beyond the 'I'm-solely-responsible-for-the-well-being-of-this-tiny-grub' aspect. 

I wonder this throughout the day, about those of you who are totally smitten by and devoted to this infanty infant stage: What is it that captivates you about this?  What do you love about the small-floppy-ball-of-need?  Really, I'm asking.  I'm sure that you gather, even if you don't know me (by now/yet) that it's not my favorite stage.  For me, it's worth riding through (obviously,) to get to the other side. And I can appreciate the littleness and the floppiness but really, to me, they don't hold a candle to the walking and talking. So, spill it, Inquiring Minds and all that.

I'd love to go on and on with this train wreck of a post but right now, both kids are sleeping (whoot!) and I need to go and fold the fucking laundry. 

That or watch the DVD of Weeds I just got from Netflix that I joined because even though I have LESS time, somehow, I'm watching MORE television. 

Huh?

Even Though It's Not My Story To Tell.

He was due today. 

His mother (a friend and a six-degrees-type relative) and I commiserated about our equally appalling pregnancies and talked about how close in age our boys, each our second child, would be.  A mere couple weeks apart. 

And then, last week, The Unthinkable, The Unspeakable, The Most Awful Thing happened.  Everything fell apart.  My friend and her husband and their first child lost their baby.  A lack of fetal movement and no heartbeat and then induction, labor and heartbreaking loss.

I can't stop thinking about them.  Can't stop.

And though I am truly ambivalent about sharing their story here, I understand that today--Today--is National Pregnancy Loss and Infant Loss Awareness Day and, well, there it is.

You can leave condolences here if you like.  My friends have asked that donations be made in their son's memory to First Candle.  If you're so inclined, his name was Zachary Owen.

xo

Turn And Face The Strange.

A Little over two years ago, my [Hazing Type Initiation] foray into First Time Motherhood was, er, [like a 7 month-long Hell Week] trying to say the least.  It was a steep-ass learning curve with an infant who [was like a Monster From Somewhere Evil] most likely had colic AND untreated reflux and who was [constantly level 10 wailing] uncomfortable and fussy.  Ahem.

To be totally serious for one split second, it was Traumatizing.  For reals.  If I might review for a moment, there wasn't a new experience that didn't make TLNG scream uncontrollably and inconsolably.  The car seat, the swing, any trip in a moving vehicle, the crib, the co-sleeper, the sling, the bed, the bathtub, a family party, people touching her, people LOOKING at her (so not kidding, my sister used to look at her on a 45 degree angle, for fuck's sake,) the doctor, the grocery store, the library, EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE.  It left me feeling helpless and depressed, because SERIOUSLY, having an inconsolable infant is incredibly difficult--if you've ever been there, you KNOW what I'm saying.  That shit is HARD, yo.

Part of my ambivalence about having another was the 'What If That Shit Happens Again?' type thought process, which came along with an Unbidden Mental Image of me flinging myself off The Ben Franklin Bridge, leaving two kids and a clueless spouse behind.  Not nice.  The other alternative, which was almost as unpleasant, believe it or not, was that the second baby would be EASY (because no WAY could I get TWO like the first).  In that scenario, I felt possibly-slash-retroactively bad for TLNG, knowing that everyone would be remembering her hell-days (long, LONG gone now) and comparing her to a potentially *nicer* sibling.  Strange, I know, but true.

As it turns out, The Boy is who he is.  And who he is does seem Easier.  He eats [the geysers that are mah boobies] without difficulty.  He sleeps in 3-4 hour chunks.  He cries when he's hungry or when he's not eating or sleeping.  When you pick him up, he does this weird thing...he like, stops crying.  He sleeps in the car seat in his crib.  And in the car.  And in the sling, when I'm out and about.  He had his first family party last night and he..er...SLEPT THROUGH IT.  It is utterly foreign to me. 

And I am completely suspect.

I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the screamies to start.  I keep thinking that he's so new still and this maaaaay just be the very early newborn phase.  That soon, we'll have to deal with the inconsolable craziness.

And then there's this: Whenever he cries for more than 15.4 seconds, I start to have a flashback, no shit.  I get INSTANTLY frustrated and depressed and it's BIZARRE.  I know that some of it is hormones and reliving the only other experience of Mothering an Infant that I have.

We ARE comparing, though, and remembering.  Last night, on our way home from the Family Dinner, The Man and I had a moment of, 'Holy Shit, do you remember what this trip sounded like two years ago? WHAAAAAAA!! WHAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAAA!!'  For whatever reason, it does make me feel kind of bad but it's hard not to do.  And I'm sure as The Boy gets a little older and [grows out of the Eating Machine phase] starts to grow a personality, it will be easier to appreciate him for who he is.

Besides, when I look at my girl now, I realize how fast those Crazy Infant Days go.  And let's be honest, that's more than FINE with me.

I DO prefer a baby with a little more time under his or her belt.