Immuniwhyareyouhurtingmybabyzations!

Guess who got her first round of immunizations?

This girl!

And she was not happy about it.

Somehow I forgot that's what we were going to the doctor for, so I went by myself and her father went to work, and when I walked in the nurse is like, "I'm gonna stab your baby today and probably make you cry as well," (at least that's what she should have said) and I immediately thought, "I wonder if her father could run the fifteen miles here in time for this because I'm not sure I can handle it!"

Turns out he couldn't.

Watching someone deliberately hurt your child makes you want to punch them in the face, no matter how nice and sweet the nurse is (and she was very sweet) I still had the overwhelming urge to throw her away from my baby, grab the syringe and poke her in the thigh with it repeatedly yelling, "How do you like that? HOW. DO. YOU. LIKE. THAT." And I know it is for her own good, that a few moments of hurt is better than a lifetime of polio, or the plague - whatever it is immunizations are good for - but at the time I was ready to get in actual hand to hand combat with a woman who probably weighs a good hundred pounds less than me all because she was trying to protect my daughter against scurvy.

I don't want scurvy Mama!

So that makes two times in a row I've cried at the doctor's. Luckily he claimed he didn't even remember last time and said that, "crying moms tend to happen a lot" so he doesn't really keep track of it. And then he launched into a talk about postpartum depression but I didn't hear any of it because I was trying to distract myself from sobbing by noticing how much chest hair he had showing, (it was a lot) and then imagined what it would be like if he braided it (awesome) and beaded the braided bits (amazing) and then did a cabaret-like chest shake while he read off her height and weight percentages to me (like having a musical chest instrument), and then suddenly I was giggling, almost uncontrollably, while he tried to discuss with me the ways I can increase my milk supply, which probably makes him think I am like a twelve year old who can't talk about boobs without giggling my ass off, which is totally untrue, I can talk about boobs with the straightest face you've ever seen, I'm very serious about boobs, braided-beaded-doctor-chest-hair on the other hand is one of the best visuals I've ever had in my entire life, but there's no way I was going to tell him that because I'm pretty sure letting your kid's pediatrician know you were just imagining things about his chest hair could probably be taken the wrong way.

Yay chest hair!!!

So, for her next round of shots her father is coming with me. If not for emotional support then at least so I can have a second opinion on this chest hair business.

Maybe I'll just stay home from that visit guys. You can get the shots, I'll just practice being cute.

Remember Schmemember

This is how the baby helps me bake. By supervising my every move. Then pooping on the counter. How'd it get through both blankets to reach the counter? YOU TELL ME.

So you may remember I talked about Pregnancy Brain, a medical condition (probably) where you lose your marbles and suddenly don't remember who the Vice President is and wind up asking your friends and they look at you with total shock, and possibly distain, not trying to even hide it and placate you a little bit because they're your best friends - apparently knowing you for half your life means they don't have to sugar coat your stupid for you.

Well anyway, apparently it doesn't go away once you have a baby. It just gets way worse. ie; when you breastfeed you're supposed to start on the last boob you ended on. Since the little lady is eating every two hours right now, that means I have to remember back an hour and fifteen minutes and recall whether we were on the left or the right and 9 times out of 10 I stare blankly into space, with absolutely no clue which side she was on. I can't remember something from an hour ago!

So, last week my boyfriend was running a 10k and me and the Pork Chop went down to cheer him on a woman and her baby stopped to say hi, and ask how old she was and blah blah blah, so we talked about out babies and whatnot and then the lady said, "What's her name?"

And I said, "Uhm. . ." and looked at the lady as if she was going to tell me, because I kid you not, I had NO IDEA WHAT MY BABY'S NAME WAS. No clue whatsoever. You could have put a gun to my head and I would still be standing there frozen. And suddenly I started to panic. I looked down at my baby and thought, "Her. She's my baby." But that wasn't what the woman asked. She didn't ask me to point out my baby in some weird criminal-baby-line-up (Oh my god, how cute would a baby line up be?! "Ma'am tell us which one it was." "That one. Number three. She definitely puked on me." Ahhhhhhh! I want it!), she asked me what her name was. Again, more panic and suddenly I couldn't breathe. It was the closest I think I've ever come to actually living a dream - because stuff like that doesn't happen in real life, it happens in dreams and you freak out, and realize you're naked on top of not being able to recall what you named your only child, and then you wake up in a cold sweat, sigh and say, "Oh thank gosh. It was just a dream. Her name is . . . "

AHHHHHH! And then you scream because you still can't remember because it's not a dream!!!! YOU'RE TOTALLY AWAKE! I looked around slowly and said "Uhm. . . " again, hoping this would distract her. And I could feel my boyfriend's mom turn to look at me, and I could feel everyone else start to turn to look because who doesn't remember their baby's name?! And then suddenly, thank God, I sputtered, "Ad. . . Addi . . . Adeline. Her name is Adeline." And then gave a little cough hoping everyone would think I just had something stuck in my throat and that's why it took me so long.

*sigh*

So embarrassing.

To be fair I don't ever call her by her name. Unless she's in trouble.

Which is never because she's a teeny tiny baby!!!

But I have a feeling by the time she hits Jr. High I'll have that name down big time. If she's anything like me she'll be hearing it weekly.

Either that or I'll be yelling, "Missy Porks Chops Chubby Cheeks! You change that outfit right now or you're grounded. No buts! Just change it!"

Oh mom, you so crazy! I love you even if you never remember my name.

Thanks Chops.

Seven Weeks Old!

So our little monster got super monster-y all of a sudden. Very fussy, and upset all the time which could not be consoled, not even the night I breastfeed her for almost FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT.

You wanna see something scary? Go back to that night and peek in my window. It's me sitting on the couch, crying my eyes out because my baby is crying her eyes out, shoving my raw boob in her face, which (admittedly is totally fair) makes her start crying even more, which makes me start crying even more, which makes her father take one more step back away from the Duo of Crazy so that he doesn't get caught in the mix, all the while a glass of wine is staring at me from the coffee table, taunting me because it knows there's no way I'm ever going to drink it this night, not even if she stops crying and goes to sleep, because chances are, at that point my eyes will be so salt-soaked, and puffed together I won't be able to get the glass to my mouth before I spill it down my shirt slash fall asleep mid-sip, which of course it the trigger to waking a sleeping baby thus repeating the whole crying-feeding-saddest-looking-boobs-ever night.

So, of course I start wildly googling 'colic' and 'reflux' and 'fix my baby', and those sites led to me other sites, which led me to other sites, which scare me so that leads me to other sites, and somehow suddenly I'm on my sixth grade ex-boyfriend's facebook page reading all about his cousin's melasma and wondering why I didn't get melasma when I was pregnant. And also wondering how I ended up on Facebook since I don't even have a Facebook page.

Anyway, my point is - do not google stuff when you're worried about your baby.

DON'T DO IT.

Or you'll end up on the phone with your mom, sobbing for no reason, then will look down at your baby and see she's getting black splotches on her skin. Black splotches! That's it, you'll think, she's got a weird skin disease and we'll have to see specialists, and have treatments, and kids will make fun of her but that's ok because it will weed out the good kids from the bad kids and she'll make life long friends with real people who like her despite her black splotches. And then you realize you're sobbing. Right over her. And those black splotches? Those are mascara tears.

Oh the joys of motherhood!

At least I got mascara on that day.

So, I called the doctor the next morning and we brought her in to be looked at and lo and behold, she does not have the 7 million horrible things I thought she did - she just wasn't getting enough to eat.

Oh yeah, 'cause that's better. I'm not feeding her enough. She weighs 8 pounds now, only up a 1/2 pound from three weeks prior, and she should be up about a pound.

Cut to me crying in the doctor's office and he's like:

"It's ok, it's because she's sleeping so much. You might want to just try shortening her naps. No big deal."

And I'm all, " . . . **SOB**. . . "

And he's all, "You're very lucky she's such a good sleeper."

And I'm all, ". . . **SOB** . . " only even louder because I'm starving my baby.

And he's all, " . . . "

And I'm all, "I'll *SOB* try to get more *SOB* feedings in."

And he's all, "Yeah. . . you know it doesn't look good when the mom's walk out of here crying." And then he shot my boyfriend a look like - please can you make her stop. And the boyfriend shot him a look right back that said - are you kidding? Don't you think I'd be doing something about it the past ten months if I knew how?

And then I cried some more, and the Dr stayed with us for about 45 minutes, either because he's very caring and thorough, or because he really didn't want me walking out sobbing - either way it was very nice of him.

I'm not sure how her weight gain is going, we'll find out next week. But I am feeding her all the live long day. Every two hours to be exact. And this is what I get in return:



A sneaky little smile. Just between us.






And this, pure laughter.

You're welcome baby! Mama loves you so much. Raw boobs and all.

Six Weeks Old!

And according to my doctor I can officially now go for a run and have some sex.

(Guess which one I'm more excited about.)

No seriously. Guess.

I'm not gonna tell you, that's personal. Sure I'll tell you about getting shots in my butt, and how the doctor who delivered my little Porks (nickname is awesome. but will be replaced so she doesn't get made fun of. is sad day when we can't call Porks, Porks anymore. is perfect little Porks.) was doing sign language in my vagene, but you do not get to hear about my running/sex life. I have some boundaries.

Hahahahaha No I don't! But I'm still not gonna say out of respect for my family.

You're welcome Porks.

Anyway, I'm not sure how the doctor decided it was ok for normal activities to resume since she didn't really examine me. And by "didn't really examine" I mean, I started to undress and the nurse was like, "Oh no don't bother. Does everything feel ok down there?"

"Uh, yes? Other than the fact that little Porker came out of it six weeks ago it's hunky dory." (I didn't really say 'hunky dory' but I wish I had.)

"Hi Mom? The forties called, they want their slang back."

Then my doctor came in, asked me a few questions, laughed a lot at the fact that I was a screamer in the delivery room, and said, "Well that's it, you look fine. Can I hold the baby?"

And I was like - I look fine? You didn't even glance at my area clothed, let alone examine it naked. What if the baby messed something up, I don't even know what, what if there's two vaginas now instead of one?!?! DON'T YOU WANT TO CHECK ME?

But no. She did not. Apparently if something was wrong I'd feel it.

Whatever.

Modern science my a$#. It's more like a guessing game, but with human lives. And their stretched out private parts.

Stretched out for a good reason!

A very good, six-week old reason.

Four generations in da house!

Our families have been visiting non-stop which has been so nice, and wonderful for us and for Adeline. She gets cuddled all the time, and I get to do things like actually brush my teeth or . . . uhm. . . that's about all I can remember to do lately. But still! Yay clean teeth! I think! I mean, I know I took my toothbrush out but I'm not sure if it's wet because I brushed or because it fell into the pot in the kitchen sink where I was soaking some old bowls full of chili.

Because the kitchen sink? It's where I make us brush our teeth now. Because let me tell you something - when that little lady falls asleep at night there's no way in the world I'm letting us ruin it with something trivial like brushing teeth in our own bathroom. Or peeing. Or changing into pajamas. I'm this close to making us sleep on the floor next to the door of our bedroom because sometimes I'm afraid the blankets will be too loud. Anything that needs to be done before bed has to be done before she falls asleep or you can just go right ahead and sleep in your jeans and boots mister I-have-the-noisiest-shoe-laces-in-the-world!

Yes. It's probably time I put her in her own room.

But I'm not ready yet!

Maybe when she's six years weeks old. Maybe.

Addie and her Auntie Becky.

Addie and her Grandma.

Addie (and me with a cape on apparently) and Tutu!

Five Weeks!

So, you know what I've learned? Babies are sneaky little suckers. Sneaky and tricky. Just when you think you've got it figured out - BAM - your bed gets pooped on twice in one night and you end up sleeping on towels because no one is in the mood to change the sheets at 3am, towels you think are clean because they're in the hamper, only to remember in the morning, the hamper is place you put the dirty towels and these towels you've been sleeping on all night are the ones that got peed on the night before.

Joy of joys!

When we first took our little monster home (I say that fondly. She's the cutest little monster ever. But if you could hear the dinosaur noises that come out of her when she's trying to find the boob, and the wild, grunting head shaking that accompanies it, you would know ' cute monster' is more than appropriate.) she was still brand new and learning how to be in the world so she would eat and sleep. And that's it. And we were both all, "Oh my gosh, having a baby is easy!" And then we probably followed it up with something as equally stupid like, "Metal jumpsuit. Lightning. Large open field. What could go wrong? Hey Cheryl! Get the camera! We're about to dodge God!"

Once she hit about 2 weeks old she was like, "Oh hey, I can be awake? Awake a lot? Interesting. Lets do this sh&t!" Enter the dark circles under my eyes that makes it look as though I am routinely beaten. By Rocky. And his Russian nemesis.

She'll go from this:

Hi! Oh my gosh I'm gorgeous and cute and I love you Mama.

To this:

I HATE BATH TIME!

To this:

I'm so sleepy and cute. I love you Mama.

To this:

I HATE THIS!

Sorry, that's the same picture, but usually when she's crying I don't have time to snap a loving shot of it. Usually I'm too busy dodging the rocketing poop that accompanies the screams, as well as trying not to get punched in the eye by her extremely strong, flailing limbs.

My point is, apparently babies do not just eat and sleep their whole lives. I should have known this, but apparently I was under the impression they went from eating and sleeping to toddler like magic. Turns out - not so much.

I mean, she's only five weeks old. She's still a teeny tiny little thing. But my god can that woman scream. And unfortunately at 3am when she's being changed and the lights are on and suddenly, out of nowhere she lets out a blood curtling yell all her father and I do is giggle. Because it's so out of the blue and it's so pissed it seems as though we missed something. And then she catches sight of the ceiling fan and all screaming comes to a dead halt.

She loooooooves the ceiling fan.

Sure I'll sit in this car seat, as long as you leave me here right under the fan.

Hey Dad, I'm a little concerned about my fan. Have you seen - oh there it is! Hi fan!

Excuse me Mr. Giraffe? You're not looking at the fan. Any reason why not? Don't be rude.

Hi fan. I love you.

So if you walk by our house at 4am, and catch one of us holding the little lady up to the ceiling like a weird version of the Lion King that is why. Because it calms her down.

It may end up as her crib mobile. I'm just saying.

4 Weeks Old!

So I have not abandoned the blog! I'm gong to keep on keeping on, I've just been distracted because my mom was here for a week and then my sister was here for a week, and oh yeah - that brand new baby is here ALWAYS!

And despite the fact I got about 45 minutes of sleep last night, I just love her to pieces.

So, a real post tomorrow. But for today, here's some pictures!

Not sure about the car seat this time.

Hey guys, have you seen the fan? It's awwwwwwwesome.

There's something hanging here you guys! It's almost as good as the fan!

Sleepy head! Refuses to burp. Burping her makes her fall asleep. Until you lay her down in bed. Then she's enraged. Naturally.