July 26, 2006

I came home from my math workshop yesterday to find Karis awake. This is unusual. She is usually napping when I get home. I was delighted and held her close. She was a little fussy so I offered her a breast. She began eating ravenously but would stop suddenly and scream. I checked her mouth for cuts but found nothing. I offered her a bottle with the same reaction. She would suck ravenously then scream. She also wanted to be held just so. I did a full body search looking for anything out of the ordinary. No hairs wrapped around fingers or toes, no scratchy tags. I checked her diaper. Aside from being put on backwards (I chuckled at Aunt Danielle’s mistake) there was nothing pinching or irritating her. I feared an ear infection. I checked her mouth again and noticed what could be thrush on her cheek. It looked like residue from her last feeding.
We snuggled for a while and she continued to fuss and cry so I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and I took her in to the doctor.
She weighed twelve pounds and didn’t have a fever. She ate without crying in the waiting room. By the time the doctor called us in she was a little ball of sunshine. She smiled and “talked” the entire time the doctor examined her. Typical.
We checked her all over. Her ears were fine. The doctor checked her mouth and mentioned seeing milk residue. I mentioned seeing it before, so we deduced that it wasn’t residue after all, but thrush. Thrush can be painful, so that explained why vigorous sucking would cause her to scream. We took our Rx, thanked the doctor, and had a nice stroll home. Her disposition was much improved.
I’m scheduled for my post partum exam today. I never rescheduled it after Karis’s birth, so it’s a 9 week exam instead of a 6. I’m dreading walking through the heat and humidity, but I’m excited to introduce Karis to Dr. Howard.

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July 25, 2006
It happens…. eventually

She pooped! I never thought I could become so elated over a bowel movement, but there it is! She hadn’t pooped in SIX days. The state of her bowels has occupied my mind almost constantly for the past 4 days. I am surprised at the great feeling of emotional relief I’m experiencing as a result of her physical relief. Never before have I been so happy to clean up poop.

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This kid cracks me up. Her newest enjoyment comes from playing what I call “the match game”. I’ll sit her up in front of me propped up against my thighs and touch my nose saying, “mama’s nose,” then I’ll touch her nose and say, “baby’s nose!” She finds this all very fascinating and exciting. We go through all the different features on our faces and she’s so intense and focused on what will happen next.

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Jesse and I set up an impromptu studio in Mugga’s basement. We used a clamp light with a makeshift filter we dubbed a “snood”.

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July 21, 2006

I’ve heard some men consider lactation to be erotic or exciting. The Boy is not one of them. He regards my milk producing breasts with a mixture of awe and subtle repulsion. He likes their new size – he has made that abundantly clear. He finds himself repeatedly frustrated by urges to touch “the girls” knowing full well that one of two things will happen. One – he’ll be too rough and I’ll slap at him and scold him, or two – he’ll wake them up and open the floodgates.
Rare is the time that I can step out of the shower without milk pearling at my breasts and dropping silently to the bathmat. When The Boy takes notice he’ll scrunch up his nose or turn away as if to say, “My God woman – can’t you turn those off!”
Another process he can’t seem to wrap his mind around is why I pump my breasts. I originally started pumping to save milk in the freezer for when I start back to school. Now the freezer is packed to capacity with frozen milk. The Boy deems that reason enough to stop pumping. I still pump – either to relieve pressure or to avoid waking up damp in the middle of the night. Each night I pump a fresh bottle right before bed with the secret fantasy that he’ll wake up at three AM and say, “You sleep angel, I’ll feed her the bottle.” Yeah. Right.
I also pump in case I’m killed in some random accident involving piano movers and frayed safety straps. I figure at least she’ll get this one more feeding from me if I die before coming home.
I still can’t figure out why The Boy finds my pumping so distasteful. I hypothesize that he doesn’t like to be reminded that breasts are functional rather than strictly recreational.

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I’m convinced that hospitals nation wide unwittingly employ spies in their delivery wards. Posing as nurses these spies obtain information about the birth of your child and your home address. This information is then used to bombard new mothers with free samples of formula. They’re like drug pushers – you get your first try free of charge, but once you get hooked it will cost ya!
My first run in with a formula pusher was in the recovery room. Similac provides each new mother with a handy little diaper bag. Inside each bag you’ll find a thermal bag with two ice packs to keep a bottle cool and four mini bottles of formula. They also include pamphlets proclaiming to be hard fast advocates of breast-feeding. They explain that the mini bottles are for mothers that want to supplement with formula.
After you are sent home they give you about three days of peace. That’s just long enough for your nipples to be at their peak of soreness. Then you get a knock at your door. Special delivery! A huge box of Enfamil! I shake my head at the sad thought of all those new moms with throbbing nipples thinking, “well, maybe we’ll try a bottle just to see…” Or the moms that supplement because they worry they’re not producing enough milk and then wonder why they don’t produce enough milk.
Hey, it’s a business. We all gotta make a buck, but the second time the postman came knocking at my door with another heavy box of unsolicited formula (this time from my old friends at Similac) I said “no thank you” and had him return to sender.
Their latest gift? A baby milestone calendar – just to remind you that they’re there
If ever you want to supplement – or if you’re tragically killed in a freak piano moving accident.

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July 18, 2006
The Boy is convinced the baby is fat and retarded. It sounds harsh, I know. The idea seemed to pop abruptly into his mind rather than creep in slowly over the weeks. He is convinced I feed her too much, and glares suspiciously at us whenever we breastfeed less than four hours apart. His obsession with her weight comes from love. He wants a healthy, socially accepted child. It’s just frustrating and tiresome trying to explain to him that you can’t overfeed a breast fed baby. Her stomach is small, she needs frequent feedings. Most breastfed babies are plump and cherubic! She’s the picture of health!
Genuine worry creases his brow whenever I eat a bowl of ice cream. I can see the wheels cranking in his mind, envisioning the fatty ice cream traveling down my throat, skipping my stomach all together and pooling in my breasts. There it will wait, growing in caloric power until the baby feeds, instantly gaining unsightly rolls which she will struggle fruitlessly to burn off years from now as an overweight teenager with low self-esteem.
The retardism theory originated at her birth. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, and her face was a deep purple. The Boy’s first reaction was, “Oh my God she’s dead!” followed by, “Oh my God her head is deformed!” In his reasoning the lack of oxygen to the brain coupled with the shifting of the skull bones to accommodate the birth added up to a non refundable ticket to Easter Seals camp.
Even so, I was able to reassure him that she suffered no ill effects from her birth, and that her head would take on a rounder, less cone-like shape in the next few days.
The subject didn’t come up again for several weeks. When Karis was around four weeks old The Boy became tired of the whole new born stage, “Come on! She’s a month old. Why does she just lay there?”
He truly was surprised at her inability to hold a conversation – or at least maintain eye contact for longer than three seconds.
Now I’m willing to admit that Karis isn’t breaking any records in the development department, but she isn’t falling behind either. The Boy was willing to accept my explanation that all babies develop at their own rate, and that Karis was right on schedule until we wandered into a breastfeeding shop and met Kyle.
Kyle was three days older than Karis. The Boy was willing to overlook the fact that Kyle was a good bit smaller and thinner, after all, Karis is in the 75th percentile for height. However he just couldn’t ignore that Kyle was very alert and animated. Let’s be honest – Kyle was downright caffeinated. He was wriggly and sharp. He would engage with passersby and smile. He would track you with his eyes as you crossed the room.
OK! All right. Good for Kyle. I’m sure he’ll grow up to be some charming smarmy politician or an inspirational speaker. Maybe he’ll help inspire depressed teenage Karis to lose all that weight! One thing he won’t do is help me convince The Boy that our daughter is JUST FINE.
Babies are PEOPLE. Short, rather helpless people, but people none the less. We are all unique individuals.
I know The Boy, and I know that only time will calm his new-father fears and anxieties. Until then, I’ll just keep reminding him that we don’t want to be those parents that constantly push and pressure their children until they crack. Each flower blooms in it’s own time.

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July 15. 2006
Karis got vaccinated yesterday. I wanted to wait until she was a little older but I got so paranoid living in NYC – a veritable magnet city for foreign germs…
It was much more traumatic than I thought it would be. I’ve seen hundreds of vaccinations given. I have personally given countless vaccines to animals when I worked at the vet hospital, and I am certainly no stranger to needles – especially after pregnancy where you essentially become a glorified pin cushion, however none of that prepared me to hold my baby’s little leg straight while they inserted a very long needle deep into her tender flesh. THREE TIMES! Each time it got worse. She looked up at me with shocked confusion while shrieking in pain.
Tears filled my eyes as I held her tight to me and turned away so the nurse couldn’t see my face. To put this horrible image into perspective Karis only cried for about twenty-five seconds. Those twenty five seconds were the most heartbreaking seconds in my life to date.
I honestly don’t know how we’re going to survive this whole crazy growing up process.
So far she hasn’t seemed to notice her tender little thighs. I put frozen peas against them when we got home. She got a fever last night for which I gave her Tylenol. It broke around 3:00am. I heard her cooing quietly to herself and when I peeked into the crib she was smiley and wide-eyed. She had a decent appetite and went easily back to sleep. Today she’s in a pretty good mood; she just doesn’t have much of an appetite.
On a funny note that’s sure to embarrass her when she’s older we discovered that she really enjoyed the rectal thermometer. She smiled and cooed the whole time we were taking her temp. You can imagine the tasteless ribald jokes that ensued.

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July 12,2006
As much as I dreaded the inconvenience of having to take a math workshop I think it’s actually a positive thing. Yes, I am exhausted having to get up and get ready when Karis keeps me up at night, but it helps us establish some semblance of a routine, and it guarantees I get out of the house at least once during the day – quite essential to maintaining sanity!

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July 11, 2006
Karis does this fast paced baby pant sometimes when she sleeps. Her little belly raises and falls rapidly and her sweet milk breath comes out in hot puffs.

She is such a good eater. Her body is filling out. She is becoming a round cherub complete with rosy cheeks. It’s true what they say about the camera adding ten pounds. Karis looks much bigger in pictures than she actually is. Especially her chubalicious face. She gets that from me. I can be stick thin and my face will sit atop my neck in pictures like a happy, over-inflated Mylar balloon.

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July 10, 2006
Every now and then Karis will cry mournfully in her sleep. It only lasts ½ a second. One cry. But there is so much feeling behind it. She seems to mean it so passionately.

She is such a sweet tempered easygoing baby. She finally really noticed her mobile this morning. She has watched it before, but today it held her attention for several minutes.
She is starting to hold eye contact when I talk to her. She also smiles. Not fiercely yet – but a true, fierce smile is coming soon – you can tell.

Everyday her personality peeks out a little more.

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