In her third week of wild (pre)womanhood, Chaya meets Gramma Lisa for a rockin' and rolicking remodel. Her play dates continue (so long as she has toys to make up for her limited sociability), cookies come to call, driving all schedules to the breeze and frothing up the feeding follies to a frenzy!
Dapper Diaper Dilatation and the Slo-Mo Recovery
Another day, another one-two-one-two twixt the land of milk and honey-Chaya-made-you-a-diaper! Got to say that we're getting somewhat good at this (not to tempt the fates; please fates, we remain humbled and terrified of your humorous taste for subversion and japery!)
In news down under, we continue not to flip over the Flip. Sorry Mommy Nature- you're going down faster than Mommy Wright over a mislaid baby swing at midnight! We are trying. Really. But the Flip just doesn't fit very well on our little squirt(ing curry-poop monster).
And it's really hard to tell when that diaper has been soiled. I'm close enough to needing some kind of app that text messages me with relative diaper conditions and forecast to be certain. At least the color changing stripe on our disgusting disposables provides some guidance to us green parents. But hey at least we went through a couple of the Flip inserts today (and followed some complicated cleaning rituals) for them before turning back to the perfidious pampers. In rapid sequence as Chaya followed up clean diaper changes with little baby tummy typhoons.
The plan remains to try again ... Later... when she's a bit bigger... Maybe... It is a cute blue diaper shell... She'll fit better when she's bigger...
And at this rate she may well be a lot bigger pretty soon. It's been a non-stop feed fest around here these last 24 hours. Thank goodness I'm mastering the one-handed peripatetic nurse hold. Remaining ambulatory and being able to grab food and other items has been a revelation! Sure I have a lot of funny challenges like having to sit and hold bottles with my knees to unscrew caps. And sure carpal tunnel is a mere matter of days away.
But talk about cutting down the risk of nodding off mid-feed. Hallelujah, I can move!
Probably more than my very cranky body would like me to be able to do really. I'm starting to feel like I'll never be able to get back to pre-partum activity levels. Or even get to the extremely reduced standard if a moderately "healthy " level. Seems like even an easy half hour walk and some small percentage of my usual chores exceeds capacity. I've had to enlist assistance to do things like laundry; even the dishwasher is now an Andrew task. At this rate, I'll need to be carried everywhere and have a full time attendant available to open my snickers bars!
It's continually maddening, but I have few options but to keep heeding and possibly hedging the cavils of my ornery form. Time for embracing the turn of weather as an excuse to stay indoors and be more still. Channel my inner zen master. Woo my Wu Wei. If the Chaya won't come to the milk maid, the milk maid shall come to the Chaya ooooommmm and um. Something like that.
My delicate convalescence also makes it harder to go out, of course. Well that plus the screaming monster and her teeny tiny lack of an immune system or any respect for human decency. Really I have been no place other than pediatrician's quarters since this baby thing crashed into our lives. Not that I mind. I'm sort of tired after all, and trying to manage naps and feedings with the little one is challenging enough, but it could feel isolating.
Fortunately the outside world still comes to me. Mombossa continues to put off a difficult one man show at work to help me out a bit each day. And Molly and I had another play date yesterday. This time featuring big sister Emma, who is a shockingly extroverted and precocious little whippet. Little Miss Princess Sunshine herself when she's in a good mood.
Really I could swear that at any moment Emma will utter some trigger word and we'll be beset upon by little animated characters singing about friendship and ABCs.
At least when she's in a good mood. Like any toddler, she can go all Mr. Hyde on a scenario as well. But we got Dr. Jubilee yesterday, and Andrew was more than thrilled to interact with s little girl who talked, moved and whose attention was not immediately diverted to where the next boob session would be taking place. Chaya is the most beautiful thing on this planet but her interests and social skills are mostly limited to howling like a mad goat while excreting bodily fluids and smacking her hiccuping lips at the milk makers before throwing her unsupported neck towards the areola and typically missing by several feet.
Good combination though -Andrew got some bonus daddy points, Emma got the attention she most desperately requires, Lucy and Chaya both mostly got to sleep in their carriers, and I got to talk to Molly. Sure the combination may have amped Emma up into a froth that Molly was left to deal with and I'm not sure Chaya handled the extra noise super well (she went mad Billy goat fuss pot for the rest of the day), but it was quite the wonderful afternoon diversion.
Today begins another cycle of feed and change. Andrew went off on some evening neighborhood ride last night. I'd be more bitter about being left behind but Chaya was being a pill and this allowed us to go into the quiet bedroom and begin nighttime rituals earlier. I got at least one or two extra nap cycles out of the deal. And I'm mostly ready to take on another day... Of barely moving and trying not to overdo it. Yawn. Sigh. Burble!
Tabular Typhoons in the Twilight
As predicted, it took me less than two days to prove that a coffee table would *not* spare our living room from baptisms-by-clumsiness.
It was an interesting fifteen minutes invested in that little quod erat butterfingomstratum (Latin for "as it was so be butterfingered" of course)
Yes fifteen. I know this because I was feeding Chaya at the time and my magical breast feeding timer was on. As I mentioned, I've been getting good at this one handed nursing thing. Perhaps too good for my own good... Or good enough to never sit still for long. In this case I had to run upstairs for an absolutely necessary bit if business, carrying my Beastie along like a hungry little sleeper clad football.
On my return, I tried to resume feeding with my regularly scheduled pillows. The couch cushion wasn't too difficult to retrieve but the boppy remained just shy of reachable. I grabbed it eventually but only at the cost of disaster. The bulky boppy upended my water bottle (also just out of reach).
My bottle showered exuberantly, unchecked by me while I cautiously attempted to maintain the eternally crucial latch. With my free hand I tried to stem the rising floods, performing an emergency evacuation of the tabletop, and preventing the have mug of tea from following suit. By minor miracle, I managed these tasks and then went for a towel. The first towel, a dish towel, was like a bandaid to an axe wound, so I dabbed as best I could before going back upstairs to locate an extra bath towel in the closet. This was sufficiently absorbent, and I managed to drop it in appropriate areas and push it around with my feet all the while protecting that latch.
Needless to say, the very minute I completed my triage and dropped the towels in the hamper, Chaya was officially done nursing (raging with simultaneous disinterest in relatching and innate anxiety to return to the magical font du lait). But hey disaster mitigated and eventually water refilled to tempt the fates once more.
There's been an uptick in feeding the last couple of days. I can tell that I won't be able to wait for her next pediatrics visit to weigh the little bugger. She's filling out so much while sucking me dry. Yes, it is some kind of insane metric of parenting. There are so few objective markers for new parents that these things like growth suddenly give anchor on a sea of anomie. She growing ahead of schedule? Looks like I'm acing the feeding bit. I can't really gamify much else but at least that bit maybe and fit better or worse. Hey in some cultures, they feed their babies coca cola to make them beautifully rotund. I feel like that's cheating. Must be mommy milk (as we on the hip circles call it EBF or "exclusively best feeding") or you might as well be giving little baby EPO (which I believe stands "exclusively pharmaceuticals or-I'll-lose"). And really I do not needa doping baby. She's already kick boxer strong! Mommy and daddy have little enough time as it is to baby proof the house (saran wrap everything and follow up with duct tape) as it is!
Happy Thursday all! See I kind of track what day it is. Kind of. I also hear suggestions that it may be September? Go ninth month with your misleading name! I've got a snortling lip smacking changeling to feed as we trudge in to the big three-week-birthday! And there are liquids still to still by golly!
As predicted, it took me less than two days to prove that a coffee table would *not* spare our living room from baptisms-by-clumsiness.
It was an interesting fifteen minutes invested in that little quod erat butterfingomstratum (Latin for "as it was so be butterfingered" of course)
Yes fifteen. I know this because I was feeding Chaya at the time and my magical breast feeding timer was on. As I mentioned, I've been getting good at this one handed nursing thing. Perhaps too good for my own good... Or good enough to never sit still for long. In this case I had to run upstairs for an absolutely necessary bit if business, carrying my Beastie along like a hungry little sleeper clad football.
On my return, I tried to resume feeding with my regularly scheduled pillows. The couch cushion wasn't too difficult to retrieve but the boppy remained just shy of reachable. I grabbed it eventually but only at the cost of disaster. The bulky boppy upended my water bottle (also just out of reach).
My bottle showered exuberantly, unchecked by me while I cautiously attempted to maintain the eternally crucial latch. With my free hand I tried to stem the rising floods, performing an emergency evacuation of the tabletop, and preventing the have mug of tea from following suit. By minor miracle, I managed these tasks and then went for a towel. The first towel, a dish towel, was like a bandaid to an axe wound, so I dabbed as best I could before going back upstairs to locate an extra bath towel in the closet. This was sufficiently absorbent, and I managed to drop it in appropriate areas and push it around with my feet all the while protecting that latch.
Needless to say, the very minute I completed my triage and dropped the towels in the hamper, Chaya was officially done nursing (raging with simultaneous disinterest in relatching and innate anxiety to return to the magical font du lait). But hey disaster mitigated and eventually water refilled to tempt the fates once more.
There's been an uptick in feeding the last couple of days. I can tell that I won't be able to wait for her next pediatrics visit to weigh the little bugger. She's filling out so much while sucking me dry. Yes, it is some kind of insane metric of parenting. There are so few objective markers for new parents that these things like growth suddenly give anchor on a sea of anomie. She growing ahead of schedule? Looks like I'm acing the feeding bit. I can't really gamify much else but at least that bit maybe and fit better or worse. Hey in some cultures, they feed their babies coca cola to make them beautifully rotund. I feel like that's cheating. Must be mommy milk (as we on the hip circles call it EBF or "exclusively best feeding") or you might as well be giving little baby EPO (which I believe stands "exclusively pharmaceuticals or-I'll-lose"). And really I do not needa doping baby. She's already kick boxer strong! Mommy and daddy have little enough time as it is to baby proof the house (saran wrap everything and follow up with duct tape) as it is!
Happy Thursday all! See I kind of track what day it is. Kind of. I also hear suggestions that it may be September? Go ninth month with your misleading name! I've got a snortling lip smacking changeling to feed as we trudge in to the big three-week-birthday! And there are liquids still to still by golly!
Thirsty Threes and the Bippety Boppety Boop
Happy three whole weeks to my little Chai-chai! I can't believe how much she's grown and babyfied already. With some math and a weigh in with daddy, we are estimating that she is now a bit under 8 pounds! Still sizably smaller than her ginormous newborn mommy or cousins, but so much bigger than that delicate 6 pound 10 ounce sweetie we melted for three weeks ago!
Happy three whole weeks to my little Chai-chai! I can't believe how much she's grown and babyfied already. With some math and a weigh in with daddy, we are estimating that she is now a bit under 8 pounds! Still sizably smaller than her ginormous newborn mommy or cousins, but so much bigger than that delicate 6 pound 10 ounce sweetie we melted for three weeks ago!
Knock on wood, but mommy's postpartum emaciation doesn't appear to be hurting the almighty supply. That's important, because breast milk is best and is also the standard by which all new mothers' souls are judged. At least after childbirth for which "natural" may be both in baby's theoretical interest and also serve as a show of hard core ballz in the same way Crossfit or ultramarathons become statements of moral identity through suffering.
No really, breastfeeding is more to me than some marker of my socioeconomic class and toughness. More than some set of edenic ideals. I actually may well be programmed to shove my boob in my baby's face despite the inconveniences attendant.
At first it was uncomfortable to painful, but as I "toughen up" it starts to feel good. Hard to describe the little surge of electricity that surges through me body at a low hum when the latch is on. Little shockwaves carry through my body and I feel a surge of ooey goeey warmth (not just the excess let down sopping my shirt)
And we're programmed for that reaction. I'm essentially getting high with my baby. She is a raging fiend but I give in to the not-exactly-peer pressure like an early stage of an after school special. I can feel this sort of tingling followed by somnolent relaxation, and finally a surge of warm fuzzies. Demon baby is making deranged goat noises, spewing milk by-product from every orifice and battering me with her free appendages, but all I can do is cry tears of sheer adoration and gratitude. Heavy stuff!.
Breast feeding wins or maybe not: last night she was nursing as is typically her wont between about seven and ten (and largely before that except I can truck her into the boba for dinner). Having already bopped her in the head with the boppy (now we know why they call it that -try setting up a boppy on your lap with a milk-fiend raging in your arms and not bopping the poor thing), I swiftly managed to knock a bottle of water off my side table and under the bed. Yes there's a theme developing here. Fluids shall fly! This was awkward since it had fallen beneath the bassinet. But a full bottle required some action. So, with simian certainty, I managed to squeeze out of bed, crawl under the bassinet, retrieve my bottle, and towel up the floor... Almost entirely without disturbing the beast. Almost. There were baby goat howls by the end and latch was lost.
Today Chaya had quite the day. She slept through most if it, but Molly, Emma, Lucy, and Marcus came by to see her. Well actually to give me some lactation cookies (surprisingly tasty and scant in yeasty sapor despite the brewer's yeast). And maybe Emma was there to play with Chaya's musical toys and monopolize Andrew (who perhaps has yet to experience what happens when you amp up a charming little toddler and are stuck with the consequence; and thus is unafraid to indulge her wildest precociousness with his full attention). And I got to talk to some very tired friends with double to triple the doublemint rugrat fun.
Chaya did rouse between Wolverine feedings, naps and a diaper to meet her Grandma Lisa, just up from San Francisco with her husband Tom. Tom is not to be confused with Andrew's dad Tom or Andrew's grandpa Tom or Adella's late grandpa Tom Thompson. Whom Chaya will call Grandpa Tom remains to be determined.
Chaya was quite well behaved for the event in fact! Only peeing extra on mommy during changes and spitting up sparingly on our guests. Once she had resumed her evening fancy between nursing and zonking (with plenty of sleep nursing of course), our visitors took a whirlwind through the downstairs basement, leaving it pretty shockingly clean. A job that looked to take several days. A few more days of this and our house may be ultimately put together.
Meanwhile Chaya will remain hovering between voracious guzzle, actualizing hey diaper potentiality, and snoozy stupor. Should anyone interrupt, expect tempests! Those threatening threes after all...
Chaya Papaya Banana Fanna Fafaya
I was named Adella primarily so that by nickname could be Addie (in honor of some so and so). And so I was for the first small chunk of my life. Right up until I decided that I was far too grown up for the sobriquet, and Adella was magnificently more appropriate to my regal mien.
I was named Adella primarily so that by nickname could be Addie (in honor of some so and so). And so I was for the first small chunk of my life. Right up until I decided that I was far too grown up for the sobriquet, and Adella was magnificently more appropriate to my regal mien.
Always think of the nicknames. I liked Adella more because it was a princess name and Addie was more of a common sounding spunky American name, but I will say the one time I beat on another kid was when I gave little Andrew (not Wright) a bloody nose after an incessant chorus of Addie-fatty. Which I wasn't but it was still annoying. Try that with Adella and you get umbrella. Sure, I could smell-a, but more likely I'm just bella.
I have already devised several nicknames that will someday horrify our little girl someday. My favorite seems to be Chaya Papaya, although I seem to gravitate towards Chai-Chai as well, and my-a Chaya of whom I ask why-a Chaya When she's being fussy. My dad says he calls her his little cup of tea. I also enjoy singing David Bowie's My Little Chaya Girl and saying Hi-ya Chaya! Hi hi Chai Chai. Andrew's taken to the Cha-cha-cha-Chaya revision of the chia pet theme.
Many options for when she becomes a popular r&b artist, as I think she's getting ready for in this outfit. Or a "camouflage sausage "as daddy so kindly dubbed her.
I have already devised several nicknames that will someday horrify our little girl someday. My favorite seems to be Chaya Papaya, although I seem to gravitate towards Chai-Chai as well, and my-a Chaya of whom I ask why-a Chaya When she's being fussy. My dad says he calls her his little cup of tea. I also enjoy singing David Bowie's My Little Chaya Girl and saying Hi-ya Chaya! Hi hi Chai Chai. Andrew's taken to the Cha-cha-cha-Chaya revision of the chia pet theme.
Many options for when she becomes a popular r&b artist, as I think she's getting ready for in this outfit. Or a "camouflage sausage "as daddy so kindly dubbed her.
She is also our little goat girl, due to the unique timbre of her little baby mews. Particularly when she's nursing. Our girl is a vocal eater! Grunting, shrieking, burping... Table manners will be interesting and I can't wait to start nursing the little demon in public. Should terrify the bejeezus out of the fainthearted!
Milk Monster's Mystery Moods and the Living Room Lovelies
Well break out the ice skates and head over to Hades Pond, Chaya actually slept for nearly three hours between feedings. We shall not comment on her mental state upon arising after such spell, but it certainly adds an odd coda to a goat-girl rhapsody of strange.
On Saturday she binged, racking up nine hours of daily boobage by the end. Mommy was pretty much locked in the bedroom or wandering about footballing the little nipper on order to be sent-sociable with a house full of during guests.
Yesterday, she got sleepy. She got Chaya. Eating less often but more aggressively (like giving warrior bonsai howls in her full frontal double-fisted assaults). She didn't just slip out of latch, she would throw herself off one moment and sob for return the next. I couldn't feed to her satisfaction but I could distract her, lodging her in the boba at times, holding her in my lap and rubbing her belly at others.
Well break out the ice skates and head over to Hades Pond, Chaya actually slept for nearly three hours between feedings. We shall not comment on her mental state upon arising after such spell, but it certainly adds an odd coda to a goat-girl rhapsody of strange.
On Saturday she binged, racking up nine hours of daily boobage by the end. Mommy was pretty much locked in the bedroom or wandering about footballing the little nipper on order to be sent-sociable with a house full of during guests.
Yesterday, she got sleepy. She got Chaya. Eating less often but more aggressively (like giving warrior bonsai howls in her full frontal double-fisted assaults). She didn't just slip out of latch, she would throw herself off one moment and sob for return the next. I couldn't feed to her satisfaction but I could distract her, lodging her in the boba at times, holding her in my lap and rubbing her belly at others.
She startled the faint of heart with her boobistential angst more than once as she broke into paroxysms of discontented nursing and became increasingly manic in her rooting when removed. And she went full exorcist baby with projectile spit up more than a few times. In between feeds, she was a wide eyed fidgety angel. Or squalling. But often angelic.
I was fairly certain it would be a sleepless night, given her bouts of fuss, latch, grunt, thrash, whine, detach, re-latch, pass out, wake up, rinse, repeat. And it started that way. A few little head nods to her having fallen asleep began the rueda. Hope springs eternal so I do always try to set her up for snoozing and to take whatever minutes I can get before the reawakening. Then around nine and quite unexpectedly, bedtime stuck! All the way until 11:40!
Another feed to sleep and she gave me another hour and a half. Yet again she snoozed after feeding to take us to nearly 4 am. This is not my baby! What next? Will she stop snortling like a truffle pig rooting for fungi? Desist her wild whims to pummel my chest with her delicate little fists?
Naturally I am all afret over this terribly atypical behavior. What on earth could be wrong?. Is she so mad at my boobs that she can't stand to deal with then until necessary? Does she have sleeping sickness? Do I have some new need to eat more oatmeal cookies with brewer's yeast and flax mixed in with lots of chocolate (most likely more cookies is always the answer)?
Whatever new horizons lay ahead with the wee three week old, she nursed and slept through a pretty HGTV style working visit from her Grama Lisa and Grandpa One of Several Toms. There were three majorly unfinished areas remaining after the move. The main floor had a living room area with our sofa and not much more. The library had a couch and books and hasn't been used all summer. And the basement had a full room full of Andrew's extra boxes and some furniture.
Andrew had designs on using some of his parental leave to make these livable. After the coffee spillage, he had begun with a coffee table. And has been investing his time and energy setting up a multimedia station through an old laptop for the library.
But our house had ain't seen nothin'yet. During a two and a half day push, we now have a very thorough plan for the three rooms. The living room has pictures hung, plenty of homey entertaining space, a vintage rocking chair and a surprising amount of style.
The multimedia room has an entertainment center in the closet. The basement is cleaned out, is illuminated with lamps, has a big orange papasan chair, and has a space for a day bed to be acquired.
Whew, I spent all weekend in bed and I'm tired! Ok sure that has nothing to do with the surprisingly traumatic effects of having squeezed an infant out of one's body (again, I feel misled by the world in having thought that late term pregnancy would be the toughest physical part and if I could be super active then, surely I could at least empty the dishwasher without a big old tmi fest of " overdid it" symptoms now).
But thank goodness for beautiful new nursing nooks and for a freakish baby occurrence allowing a bit more rest.
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