Friday, July 24, 2009

200 is such a daunting number.

Ta-tas. Ta-tas with talent. I have ta-tas with talent. They give my little one life and it is all because of me. Not Enfamil. Not Similac. Not Publix brand formula. M-E. Little E and I have twenty minute meetings seven times a day. It's a wonder I get anything done. By seven, it is more like six. But, if it is anything over four... what is the difference?!

If you know anything about me, I like planning. Correction, I love planning. And I like Excel sheets. I am terrible at math, but I love numbers. For instance, before giving birth an excel sheet was created for the best price of diapers in the area. THEN, that just was not good enough. Husband said that babies grow 10 grams a day for the first x weeks, and 10 grams equal x percentage of a pound and newborns diapers go up to eight pounds... based on this nugget of knowledge, 6.5 pound Eileen would be in newborn diapers for.... 5.5 weeks (and use approximately 11 diapers a day, exceeding 400 diapers total) And she was. To the date. Nary a diaper was wasted, except the ones she tinkled on and had to be tossed. Talk about about a waste of 28 cents. (24 cents on sale at diapers.com)

Excel sheets and numbers, I digress... 200. Two hundred ounces. Holy...

Ohmygoodness, Husband and Wife are leaving Sweet Petit in September and again in October for a a three day weekend first and a four day weekend second. "So what?" you non-baby makers scoff.

Ta-tas.

Tater Tot survives on ta-ta milk alone, thus... she needs me and my ta-tas to get to work so she can eat while we are gone.

"Ohhhhhhh...." the light flicks on. Don't worry- I would not have registered this important detail either.

200 hundred ounces. That's four ounces extra a day for the next 49 days. I should be done by September 12 and will leak my way through the next two months.

Talk about dedication. I Should buy the "My ta-tas are awesome" bumper sticker. Or at least "Save the ta-tas" I don't have breast cancer, but by September 13- mine will need saving.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Babies in bonnets, nothing is better





Little e and I went to church this morning. I was proud as a peacock dressing teeny in her Feltman Brothers dress and sweet bonnet walking down to St. Marys. Her in her stroller and I making the walk down McDowell- March of The Catholics- we headed to church.

Eileen was fantastic, sleeping in my arms throughout mass. The couple next to me, with their two hellions were in a constant battle keeping them quiet, forget tepid. Seeing what I had to look forward to in the coming years, I put a small kiss on her forehead thanking God for a simple miracle of a sleeping babe in the silence between prayers.

Pooooooooooot.

In a very un-ladylike way, she released a gas pain. The mother of the two children looked at me & like 10 year old girls, we both giggled quietly.

Two readings later, a pause between song and words... E had something else to be heard.

PPPPPPOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT...

The pregnant woman in front of me, dashing in her white slacks, sassy haircut, and turquoise necklace... obviously her FIRST pregnancy, far too put together, turned around and gave me a look- as if to say, "Did you eat Vallatra's for breakfast?" The mother next to me gave another look and all I could do was giggle quietly at my precious baby, who still looked so dainty in her dress (even if she sounded like an old man).

Church wore on. The father next to me got up and down twice with his kid who would not settle down. Eileen continued to sleep. Kneeling before Communion,her in my arms, the choir walked down from the loft. No singing. No words. No readings. No prayers. Complete silence, waiting to go up to the alter.

PPPPPPPPPOOOOOOOTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...........

It was never-ending. The mom next to me leaned over and asked if I needed a diaper. The man behind me coughed loudly. The woman (and her mother) both turned around and stared. The man next to them who said, "God Bless both of you" during the sign of peace sent a glance over his shoulder. I think even the deaf priest (literally deaf, not just hard of hearing) even heard a little rumble.

She must get that from her father.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Back in the Kitchen

My favorite thing to do is make a HUGE meal and invite 18 of our closest friends over for wine, appetizers, and supper. I spend all afternoon making a disaster in the kitchen whipping up something a little over average, a little less than amazing and Husband swoops in ten minutes before the doorbell rings and all hell breaks loose to make it absolutely sparkling. I zip in the shower & the fun begins.

A minimum of five bottles of wine & 36 dirty dishes later, the night comes to an end. Husband and I revel in what a great time we had. Our friends leave with full stomachs and the mildest of morning headaches.

Since being pregnant, my headache in the whole process has disappeared. But since being super SUPER pregnant, my good times in the kitchen have subsided. The idea of spending more than 240 seconds on my feet unless I absolutely HAD to was more than painful.

Husband and Wife had dates that involved chicken salad (store bought), Campbell's soup, and lots and lots of grilled cheese sandwiches. Once the gd-gd set in, it was more Special K protein bars and lots of shrimp. Shrimp are easy to cook and even Husband can make those in a pinch.

After LMC came (you know, 43 hours... 16 hours of hard labor... 2.5 hours of pushing...c-section...2:47 in the morning) our awesome friends and family cooked supper, brought food, took us out to eat, or otherwise fed The Girl on Percocet & The Hungry Husband. We might have starved otherwise. I was in no condition to operate heavy machinery, let alone a microwave.

This Friday, I am making baby steps at getting back to the kitchen. Some very special people gave us the best new-mom gift ever, a gift certificate to Dream Dinners. I still can't spend oodles of time on my feet like I would like to, but I still want to make something a little less than amazing for Husband for supper. Our dinner dates are very important to me and sometimes, a grilled cheese just does not cut it... no matter how fancy you pretend it is.

If you are unfamiliar (as I was), Dream Dinners has everything pre-measured for you & it is your job to assemble everything, get it in a freezer and cook at your leisure with the greatest of ease.

Husband & Wife will feast-- and thanks to Dream Dinners & Advanced Services, we will have... I kid you not... 20 meals ready to go. I can slowly make my way back to the kitchen and getting back on my feet (literally speaking) and not have to starve Husband in the interim.

Grill Cheeses be damned!

Monday, July 6, 2009

Brad Merry, Baby Whisperer

I have a good baby. I really do. She eats every 3-4 hours. She almost sleeps through the night- only one feeding. She spits up a lot but at least she is consistent. But sometimes, sometimes, she starts crying in the afternoon- her fussy time- and she. just. won't. stop. Nothing. Not one thing can calm that little Bob Marley Wailer. We feed, we change her diaper, we try "tummy time" (something my brother, of all people, told me about), we swing, we walk outside.... we try every trick I have learned in the last five weeks. Just sometimes though, it will not end. The little Stay Puft Marshmellow Man tells it like it is. And it is, apparently, loud and painful.

But, oh, Brother. Not "oh brother" but "oh...Brother"-- my Brother is the baby whisperer.

She will not stop crying because it is so blasted hot- poof! Brad swoops in with those big arms and voila! my baby is quiet. She will not stop because it is too freaking cold- baddabing! Brad finds a little crook in his arm and shhhh! my baby is sleeping. She cannot let up because it is Tuesday- abracadabra- Mr. Merry seeks and destroys even the tiniest whimper out of her.

Brad Merry, Baby Whisperer for hire.

Today, she was great- GREAT for hours while I worked. Could not have asked for a better 4 hour stretch. A feeding and two diaper changes later, nothing could calm her. Five minutes, I kid you not, five minutes having a little QT [that would be Quality Time and not Quiet Time... Ford was with us] with Uncle Brad and I have a new baby. She is back to being Number One Cagle with the prettiest eyes and dainty little nose.

I am afraid what will happen after I feed her.