True Confessions

I must admit that I'm not too fond of the newborn stage.

It's not anything the baby's doing: crying, spitting up, eating constantly, crying, keeping me up, crying and so on. I regard these as normal. I mean he's taking these first several weeks to get used to 'being on the outside'. It's got to be hard, that. You're used to having your temperature regulated, your body closely snuggled, your meals delivered intraveinously and suddenly it's COLD, and BRIGHT, and LOUD! That's gotta be tough.

I have no problem understanding and helping my newborn through this transition. Yes, I have to remember to swaddle him; yes, his only form of communication is crying - so he does it a lot; and yes, he eats all the time. I was adapted by Nature to build this creature and also to feed him when he arrived. The first few weeks are tough, but I'm a big girl and I can cope. It gets easier and I'm not gonna die from lack of a little sleep.

So what exactly do I find disenchanting? The baby himself. Oh I adore my babes - don't get me wrong - but I dislike the plastic-babydoll newborn. I really start enjoying baby when he starts responding. I love it when they stop sleeping all the time and start being alert. I'm charmed to find my several-week-old peering sharply around with those dark blue eyes and following my face. I love to hear those first few grunts intended solely for me: ooohh, the boobies are here!

Bitty Boy is a bit over 3 weeks now and is getting to this point - and I'm loving it.

Oh, and while I'm confessing my likes and dislikes of this stage lemme say that all the things happening with mommy at this point blow large! General disgusting yuck and having to wear pads? Sucks. Swelling ankles, feet, and belly? Sucks. Gross tonnage of fat and flab that now have to be lost because of my own lack of willpower while pregnant? Double sucks!

And to totally bolster my self-image I was the happy recipient Monday of that most complimentary of post-partum questions: "When is the baby due?"

Great ... just great.

The household's Old Groove

Well, everything is settling back down around here. We're all getting back our grooves.

There has been a subtle (and not-so-subtle at times) shakedown here at home. After my week in the hospital I had to retake my house in a reverse coup. The new regime has been overthrown, the old regime is back in power.

Not suggesting in any way that the two people left in charge, Darling Hubby and my Mum, did a poor job – quite the opposite – they managed wonderfully. My house was , for one thing cleaner than when I left, which can never be a bad thing (although is not hard to believe considering my mad housekeeping skillz)

No, it’s just that this is an area that has been my almost exclusive demesne for over 3 years, I’m used to things being just so and a certain group of small people took the opportunity to bend some rules and pick up some bad habits while I was away. Part of it is that two of the cherubs being watched are 2 and 3 years old (and siblings to boot). This is an almost universally recognized recipe for disaster. Toss in a caretaker who's unfamiliar with the routine and, frankly, I'm lucky to have returned to my home and not a dusty pile of rubble.

But it's all settling down. Monday the Bitties and I went to see our pediatrician, Dr Clemson (this is That Other University for those of you not from South [GO COCKS!] Carolina). He's a tall, broad-shouldered, jovial, and good-looking gent who handles my babies like Caithness glass and has a very laid-back attitude. He gave a casual nod to my thrush diagnosis and rang a script in, listened indulgently and a bit absently (in a fine husband-like fashion) to my rants about Bitty Boy being too skinny (he's gained back his birth weight plus a few oz so Dr C isn't worried). Basically a good appointment. The only bad bits were the blaring telly in the waiting room with it's crowd of zombie-children at it's foot and the three shots: 2 for Bitty Girl and 1 for Boy.

New pic of Bitty Boy:

Well, this blows large

Aaaargh!

I swear this is the universe's way of getting back at me for easy pregnancies ...

Bitty Boy and I have thrush (pause for some choice expletives here) and it suuuuuuucks. He's got a horrible rash on his bum and I feel like someone sandpapered my nipples. Oh, and there's the random sensation of someone pushing dull needles into them as well. FUN!

I've also got some weird itchy rashy stuff going on all over both arms. It's spreading, too, I have a few bumps on my belly this morning. I'd guess it was PUPPS but that's supposed to manifest during pregnancy and starts on your abdomen.

So at a time when we'd be starting to get some sleep at night it's, instead, turned into a nightmare. I'm getting less and less sleep and, honestly, I'm starting to have a hard time smiling and acting normal during the day.

Did I mention that I have to go visit my In-laws today?

Oh and to go along with the pain and itching and general Zombie-like demeanour there's the guilt. Every time Bitty Boy wakes up I cringe. I keep snapping at the older two babies. I zone out over the kitchen sink while doing the dishes. I'm fairly sure that my Darling Hubby still lives here ... but I'm not certain. I think I saw him a few days ago.

Ugh.

Ahh, well, we go see Dr Clemson (our pediatrician) tomorrow. Thank goodness.

*note: oh man, I need to ditch this Codine ... I posted this on the wrong blog the other day. So, to those of you who read both, I apologize for the duplicate!

The gift of vent

So what's up with giving children gifts/rewards for everything?

I'm on a few 'due in June' boards and some moms are scrambling to buy/make gifts for the new baby's siblings. Many have purchased a gift for dad as well. (Is the baby not enough? Is my having to go about my normal routine - cooking, cleaning, working, wiping snotty noses - plus build an entire new human from scratch [and a half a strand of DNA] not sufficient display of my appreciation?) And why does big sister Brynkleigh need a gift ... remind me again? Is it not enough that she's getting a sibling, someone to be there for her the rest of her life, someone to lean on when I am gone? Is the pride of knowing that she has a new, important role - that of big sister - not reward enough?

But this doesn't feel like a reward, more like a guilt assuaging gift. It's as if folks are apologizing to the existing child for having another. "Oh I'm so sorry I'm doing this to you! I'm so sorry you'll have to learn the values of sharing and co-operation! I'm anguished that you'll no longer be the star prima-donna center-of-attention in the family! I'm so sorry I won't be able to buy you $6000 worth of christmas gifts that you'll fail to appreciate! It'll only be $3000 worth. Oh, my baby! Waaaaaah!"

This sensless reward motif is big in todays PC touchy-feely world. Kids take a gift to a birthday party and before they come home are given ... a gift to take home just for coming. What was the point? It smacks of a bribe to me. Not only will Jayson have a cake and games and a magician and a juggler and a pinata and ponies but his gift bags are FAB! I wanna go to his party, mom! Meanwhile Jayson's mom is preening herself over her incredible coup - ostentatious party and the best attendance! Ohhhh, touch her.

People actually give rewards to a child for toilet training. I'm all for whatever works, but this one's always baffled me. For oodles of generations now we humans have had to learn to poo in the appropriate place: outside the cave, behind the shed, in the outhouse, on the toilet. No one's considered this a gift-giving occasion until recently. You just practiced it until you got it right, making a few messes as you went, like when learning to use a spoon. Giving candy, stickers, and toys, again, smells like a bribe to me. I'm going to reward you for acting like a regular human should. Ohhh, that's a slippery slope there ...

The most offensive to me is the new structured sports craze. A group of kids 'participate in a sport' (as opposed to just playing together of their own volition). The law of averages says that some will be good, most so-so, and some will suck. Yet at the end of it all everyone gets a trophy.

What's the point of this? So that little Kade feels good about himself?

Look, I cringe at the thought of any of my precious babies having his feeling hurt by not getting a trophy, BUT I'd much rather it be that way. Why?

Because Life's Not Fair. Failure is a learning experience. If you teach your kids that they will get a reward no matter what their level of performance then they have no reason to try harder, to do better. If you teach them that they are reward-worthy for just showing up, then what happens in the real world? Just showing up doesn't cut it. You have to work at life, and sometimes it's bloody hard.

I'd rather my babies find that out now.

Plus, the understanding and acceptance that you're not so hot at one thing gives you the freedom to stop and try something else. Perhaps my Boy won't play football, but will be a great artist (and enjoy doing it), maybe Bitty Girl will never be a ballerina or sing but will be able to do math like nobody's business.

I'd brave any hurt that my babies have to go through right now to avoid the eventuality of my son, the artist, sitting on the bench at every high school football game because our 'don't damage their self-esteem' society never allowed him to fail.

Morphine ... goooooood

Yes! I have returned! *waves* I have a gorgeous-but-crabby baby boy, some pain, grotesque swelling (ugh!), and about 600 lbs of spare fat hitching a ride on my arse. GLEE!



So, let's talk drugs, shall we? Cool.

I get something in my spinal with every c/section called Astromorph (which sounds suspiciously like something out of Star Trek). It's "a narcotic agent for post operative pain control" basically a time-release synthetic morphine.

I looooooooooooove this stuff.

Love, love, looooooooooooove.

Now if I could just convince them to let me take home a vial of the lovely stuff. I have no problem injecting myself.

So the delivery went fine. Took a while longer as Dr Cutie-Pie had to cut through all the scar tissue and adhesions from my last 3 sections. He took his time and did his usual fantastic job. My incision hasn't given me a second's trouble. Obviously I'm quite sore (and swollen) in the whole abdomen region.

The hospital stay was interesting as usual. I should probably save all that for another blog. I will say that - unlike previous times - my bowels decided to not move at all. No gas ... nothing.

This is bad.

I blame the weird constipation I was having prior to delivery. One can expect a certain amount of stoppage post partum but insides held precariously together by stitches do NOT like gas. AT ALL. I was sooooo miserable.

Of course I was greatly consoled by this:

(and Tylenol 3 plus a Motrin 800 every 8 hours).

Here's Tall Boy's (age 3) first portrait of his baby brother:

I thought the resemblence was striking!

OK, here's one last rare one of Bitty Boy looking alert:

Bouncing Baby Banner

Hello, I am the Not-So Thrifty Husband of the Thrifty Mom.

Our Bouncing Baby Banner arrived at 1:55 today weighing 9 lbs. 10 oz., and measuring 21 1/2 inches long.

Mother and son are doing well, especially Mother, who should be dozing on Happy Sleepy drugs about now.

And here's the boy in question...

Off to see Dr Cutie-Pie

OK, peeps, today's the day I go in and have this stubborn alien baby removed!

He should be here about 1:30 and we both will be home Thursday. Darling Hubby is under strict instructions to update this blog with all the particulars.

Wish us a bit of luck and keep poor Darling Hubby in your thoughts ... he has to spend all week ALONE with The Brood! Bwahahahahahahah! *koff*koff*

I mean ... I'm sure he'll do well ...

*evil grin*

You’re that much a part of me now

Come monday, it’ll be all right
Come monday, I’ll be holdin’ you tight*


I sit here at my computer almost disgustingly content.

It’s really obscene.

At 39 weeks I’ve perfected my Gardulla the Hutt imitation:



All I need is a tail. Oh, and I’m pretty sure my boobs are bigger than hers. I can’t get on one of my bulletin boards (damn that Page Cannot Be Found message all to Heck). My air conditioner and my CD player in my van have both just taken a dump. Trips to the Wal-Mart have taken on a hellish quality: sweaty and unentertaining (until I get there, of course). My yard resembles a primeval jungle: damp and overgrown. I keep expecting a diplodocus to crash out through the underbrush.

I won’t elabourate on the state of floor of my dining room.

Let’s just say that if I were to mop now, I’d be violating Star Fleet’s Prime Directive regarding sentient races.

But my 3 year old can write almost the whole alphabet unassisted, my 2 year old is toilet training herself, and my 1 year old can stand up and jam to Sir Mix-a-Lot in the kitchen.

And, of course my Bitty Boy will be here tomorrow.

Oh yeah. This is what happy feels like.

The important stuff is important and the rest is just … stuff.


*Copyright Jimmy Buffett 1974

A quick thank you

And a big sloppy smooch! *MWAH*

I wanted to tell you guys how much I appreciate your comments!

I got tons of fabulous hair advice, your input was invaluable. I’ve decided to definitely wait at least 3 months and then I think I’ll go with a just-past-the-shoulder length. We’ll see.

I also got some great thought-provoking comments on the post about my acquaintance and her family size delimma. Thank you for stopping by and to everyone who commented! V. cool of you to contribute.

----

And now for a funny. Check this out.

I don’t remember how I came across this but it is hysterical. I don’t know whether it’s the fact that this lady woefully resembles me (and several of my friends – DAVE A? Are you reading this?) or what. But if you’ve ever tried to come up with the perfect animal ration, feed horses, keep animals or hoover out your furnace ducts (been there done that) you’ll LOVE this.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I have to ask you seriously what you think about this hairstyle:



This is Zoe Wanamaker as Madame Hooch, the flying instructor from Harry Potter. The instant I saw her with this haircut I thought it was dead cool and now, since I'm toying with the idea of cutting my hair ...

I just love this hairstyle but there are several considerations. One is that I only have the one attractive feature – my hair – it’s a dark mahogany brown and it’s currently down past my waist. I haven’t cut it since I got pregnant with my first (so that throws in a psychological wrench right there). I'm obviously not 100 % about cutting it at all ... but I'm craving a change.

Another big consideration is that I am not good at getting ready to go out. My Darling Hubby generally considers himself lucky if I’m dressed. I mean I was never into hair/makeup/clothes when I was young and single and had oodles of self-indulgent time. It’s definately one of the last things on my mind right now. I want to cover up my naughty bits and get in my car and leave. I will NEVER be stood in front of a mirror applying foundation or curling my hair. Do you know that I have never in my life owned a hair dryer?

With long hair one can just tie it back, braid it up quickly, or my fave, ball the whole lot up on top of the head. This hairstyle looks as if I might have to do something to it. Put gelatinous crap in it, tease it, spike it, straighten it, something.

There’s also this: for all the attractiveness of my hair, it does not look good down. There’s too much of it, it’s quite thick and heavy, and it looks terrible hanging next to my horrid face like curtains. I will never achieve the Sandra-Bullock-in-Practical-Magic look. *sigh*



So what do you think? I really wish my hair was grey already as I think this style looks really cool with the grey hair. I will never, never, never be caught with one of those ghastly permed old-lady hair styles. Or the more modern teased-up-top-and-shaved-up-the-back ones. *shudder* But, alas, my mum’s hair didn’t start going grey until she was 50 and is still not entirely grey 10 years later.

I think if I cut it I will probably dye it. Perhaps red!

Yes? No? Maybe? Quit kidding myself?