I have phantom noises that bother me. They call to me. They want My Attention. I think most people have them.
It used to be that when I was in the shower, running the bath, playing music really loud, I heard my phone ringing, someone walking around the house, someone breaking into the house, SGNP coming home from work. I would stick my head out of the shower, shut off the bath, turn down the music and of course hear nothing at all.
The phantom sounds now are but one sound. The Baby Crying. It turns out the baby is only crying when I stop checking, as was the case with the phone ringing.
A few days ago, as soon as I had settled into the tubby and turned the water off Betty was in full effect, wailing and sobbing. I got out immediately, saying a sad pitiful goodbye to the bathwater of perfect temperature as it made its irrevocable path down the drain and went into the bedroom where lay SGNP and Betty. SGNP dutifully was comforting Betty with games and songs. I asked SGNP why he didn't let me know Betty was up and wanting to be fed. His answer was chilling.
She didn't start crying until the bathwater was clearly audibly filling up the tub.
Oooo, Baby, you have no idea what a Mommy deprived of therapeutic bath time is like. And it's not good. Not good a t'all.
A certain Monkey came and visited us today with her Monkey husband and they sat with Betty and played with her and called her a Bunny. It was awesome. Not only did SGNP and I get to go out and get Bugles and Pepsi, we also went to the Post Office and vaccuumed and the Monkey swept and her Monkey husband Swiffered and we got the laundry sorted and put away and began the mountain of laundry that had completely Taken Over The Upstairs.
Monkey also took away the Raspberry Tea that I have (Note to Lara, please don't be mad, I loved everything you sent. Except the tea which we never talked about and I'm not trying to be an asshole about it. The pillow you sent is amazing and I use it all the time! Monkey wants one too). You see, ever since I announced that I was pregnant folks have been sending me, encouraging me, cajoling me, harrassing me (Kristin is a f'in freak y'all) about Raspberry Tea. Now, I like almost all things Raspberry. I LOVE raspberry pie, raspberry crisp, raspberry lemonade, plain ole raspberries. I, however, HATE raspberry tea. I actually don't like fruity teas of any kind. And I patently refuse to drink anything made of sticks like Nettle or Twig Tea.
I like my tea like I like my men: Black and Acidic.
On another Monkey note, SGNP has a version of "Shock the Monkey" as covered by Don Ho.
There's something transcendant about hearing Don Ho say "Monkey... Monkey... Monkey..." over and over and over again in his weird toneless Don Ho monotone.
As a pink japanese purse I have says, "MY MIND IS PARALYZED. I am exciting."
My mother says "Never, ever wake a sleeping baby." That sounds like good advice. Simple. You know. But the baby sleeps a LOT during the day and doesn't sleep at night. So I'm thinking, you know, try and keep the baby awake and entertained during the day and she'll sleep at night.
There is a problem with this plan.
Everytime the baby nurses she falls asleep. Which presents me with the dubious task of Waking Up the Baby. And now I know.
What happens when you wake up a sleeping baby is this:
The baby cries continuously and unrelentingly until she either falls back to sleep or you help her fall back to sleep.
Yep.
Betty is now seven pounds. She went to her one month check-up and she's seven pounds and nineteen inches. I called my mom and told her and she said we should have a Seven Pounds Party. Seven Pounds of cake. Seven Pounds of ice cream. Seven Pounds of baby. I told her I was already behind in my list of parties to have. Perhaps we can combine them and have a Seven Pound Rat Party, but that just sounds gross.
Totally gross.
Ick.
Some funny stories SGNP told me today that I need to relate with my own artistic interpretation:
SGNP is at the Gelato place on 3rd. He approches the counter expecting service from the counter person girl thing hereafter referred to as CP:
SGNP: Hi, I'd like a small chocolate chip.
CP: We don't really have chocolate chip.
SGNP: OK, well what's that one. *points at the chocolate chip Gelato*
CP: That's Stratiacella.
SGNP: Is Stratiacella Italian for "chocolate chip"?
CP: I don't know.
SGNP: *blink* So can I just have the one with chocolate chips in it?
CP: We don't really...
2nd more intelligent but that's not that hard is it CP: Just give the man his ice cream.
SGNP is at a coffee shop. He approaches the counter expecting service from the counter person girl thing hereafter referred to as CP:
SGNP: Hi can I get a medium Chai Latte?
CP: There's no such thing as a Chai Latte.
SGNP: Oh, uh, so what is...what do you call the Chai thing?
CP: Just Chai or Chai tea.
SGNP: You know your specials board says Chai Latte on it.
CP: I know what the board says. I put the board up.
SGNP: *blink* OK can I get a medium Chai thing.
CP: Our sizes are Tall, Grande and Vente.
SGNP: You know what? Forget it. I don't want anything.
I forgot to write about this when it happened.
When I got back from the hospital after having Betty there was a letter waiting for me from the PSBC to whom I donated her cord blood saying that I needed to call them ASAP if it turned out that I had West Nile Virus or SARS.
OK, uhm, I can totally see calling them if I had West Nile. But if I have SARS, I think I might be too busy to give them a jingle.
Seriously.
Spotted today: a lovely young woman wearing a white sun dress with a red floral print, red espadrilles and beige leg warmers.
What the hell is going on out there? It's like 28 Days Later but instead of zombies it's brainless mindless 80s fashion.
Erg. Hopefully like in 28 Days Later all the infected will die in like a week.
Is what I was thinking the other day as I was driving back home from the grocery store. I saw this girl standing on the sidewalk clearly waiting for someone. She looked to be about fifteen sixteen years old and was you know super skinny and cute. Except. What she was wearing was this: tight lavendar capri jeans, a hot pink belt, a pastel pink lightweight sweater over which she wore a mint green terry zip-up hoody with dark teal trim over the pockets and the shoulders. It looked like she got hit by the Go-Go's stick over and over again. Like she got pinned between the Charles in Charge bus and the Facts of Life semi truck. Like someone had nuked her with the Sixteen Candles bomb.
It's always a terrible tragedy when the more horrible and embarrassing trends from the past com back from the dead and eat the brains of our children.
Dark TEAL people!
Of course, it has started already. I've started calling Betty all kinds of things. Some of which you already know about if you read SGNP. But I've settled on a few at the moment.
Most of the time I call her Snerk and Snurgles, cause that's the sounds she makes. She snerks when she cries. it's pretty cute, kind of like how my friend Meaghan snorts when she laughs. But she goes "Whaaahaahaa. Sneeerk. Waaaaahaaahaaa. Sneeerk."
Also Betty is advanced in some very peculiar ways and behind in some peculiar ways. She can lift her head up pretty good. But she does NOT smile, except in her sleep. She also makes big heartbroken sobs and produces big tears. But she does NOT make cute "oohs and aahs." She can follow objects across her field of vision and has started putting her hands out to touch them. But she does NOT mimic your expressions or mouth movements.
So at this early stage I have an antisocial crybaby snerk-beast who cares more about objects than people.
Early parenthood is awesome.
I took a picture of Betty nursing and sent it to Paul who was on the way to work.
My boobs, each of them exclusively and independently, are bigger than Betty's head. Her whole head.
I used to be a 34 B.
I officially have Knockers. Headlights. Tits. Jugs. Boobles. Hooters. A Boozom as my grandmother would say. A Bazoom as I would say.
My boobs are going to take over the world. They will establish a benevolent Boobarchy, and there will be a boob in every pot. From each according to their cupsize, to each according to their falsies.
Actually, I've been sleeping pretty well. Betty wakes up every three or four hours. She sleeps soundly right next to Mommy, which means that she doesn't like to sleep alone, which means putting her down, even when she's napping is not always an option. She wakes up after about five/ten minutes if I put her down to go do something while she's sleeping. I've created a monster. This does bring up a problem that there is no formal school of thought on. So you can chime in with your childcare advice if you like.
The question is:
What do you do with the baby when you have to go to the bathroom?
Taking her with me and holding her all the while is not an option. I can't one hand her, plus it just seems...wrong somehow.
I can put her down in her bouncy seat and just leave her crying. Which makes it very hard for me to pee or poop. I need to relax, people. The stress just makes it all take longer and then she starts doing that heart-breaking sobbing thing so when I get back she has actual big tears rolling down her cheeks.
I could take her in the bathroom and put her down...somewhere. So do I need a new bouncy seat for the bathroom? Lay her down in the empty tub? On the bathmat?
Bottom line (no that's not a pun or...hey shaddap!) I love my little precious beautiful girl baby.
I just have to say that a lot. She's really cute. Paul is singing "Hit me baby, one more time" to her to calm her down. Babies are awesome. She is getting so big. She's already 6 pounds.
Also, Prolactin is awesome. It's a chemical released when you (or rather, I) breastfeed that makes you and the baby sleepy. Pleasant sleepy. Like Vicodin. Mmmmm.