August 30, 2006
Boy for sale

I could have killed The Boy last night. Karis is teething. (Yes, 13 weeks is early for teething, but I guess Karis is advanced afterall.) I had to go with Huns to Stony Point to pick up her car. Rather than take Karis with me I thought I’d leave her with The Boy in the comfort of her own home.
45 minutes into  what would ultimately be a three hour errand The Boy calls and asks when I’ll be back. I tell him  “As soon as possible.” And give him some pointers on how to help soothe Karis’s gums if he needs to.
I rush through our errands, but am stranded in Stony Point until Huns is ready to go. About ten minutes until we can start heading home The Boy calls distraught. He is fuming about his stressful week, and lack of sleep, and I can hear Karis crying mournfully in the background. He finally threatens to throw her through a window – a  disgusting term he uses frequently because he knows how much it bothers me.
I became insensed and said, “How dare you say something so horrible when I am so far away and have no way of taking her?!” I hung up on him, tired of his selfish tantrums and trying very hard not to cry for my unhappy baby girl.
When I made it home 45 minutes later Karis was calmer. It didn’t take much to soothe her to sleep.
David wrote Karis a beautiful email today after witnessing our little drama:

Hi Karis! I hope you’re feeling better today than you were last night.  Really had your dad on the rails, I hear.  That’s okay, but you have to be patient.  He doesn’t always have the best parenting skills, but I know he’s working on it.
You see, even though you’re the perfect baby, parents usually come with a lot of baggage and they don’t quite know how to deal with someone like you who only wants to be loved, even when you get crazy from teeth things and mommy’s that can’t always be around and like that.
I guess they’ve been in this messy world too long.  They think its so important… money, car, house, college, all that. Of course, you don’t know from none of that because you’ve been hanging out with the angels for so long… till just a few months ago, in fact… that you forgot how trite humans can be, even if they are your parents.
So when it all gets too overbearing for you, just close your eyes and dream of the days you were just singing songs, cruising through clouds and enjoying how beautiful it all is.  In fact, try to hold on to those dreams because the longer you’re here, believe it or not, the more you’re gonna get like your parents.  Then you’ll start worrying about how you look, what people say about you, who doesn’t like you, how cool your clothes are and like that… then you get older and think just about jobs and money and making sure your kid has nice clothes and house and… well you get it.  It gets kind of messy.
So just step back when the parents are trying to mess up your day and go back to where you came from.  Even though you’re here now, its still there… and always will be.  So you see, this short little time you’re here is not that important.  I’m not even sure why you’ve been put through all this.  Maybe just because your parents had stuff to learn and who better to teach it to them than a little angel.  Sleep tight.

Well said.

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During our visit to California I took Karis to meet  my dad. The Boy, my sister Emily, Karis and I all loaded in to Emily’s car and made the short trip to dad’s trailer park.

I love my father very much. He has a giant heart and a beautiful soft spot for animals and youngsters. My dad is a veteran. He has been diagnosed with PTSD and exhibits many classic characteristics of the disorder. Personal hygene isn’t one of his strong points. Several of his teeth have rotted away, yet he refuses to go to a dentist or even brush his teeth for that matter. It isn’t that he is afraid of the dentist – it is simply that he can’t be bothered.

Every time I visit my father I itch to give him a haircut. It is like when I used to work at a veterinary hospital and we would get a really filthy stray in. I always felt such a joyous sense of accomplishment after grooming the animal. The strays always seemed so much happier too. They would strut around, enjoying their new matt free coats. Not so, my father. I think I finally insulted him this last visit when I offered to clip his hair. I offer every time I see him, but this time he looked at me in exasperation and said, “No. You do not need to cut my hair.”

Shame on me. I felt really badly. Here my dad was, meeting his granddaughter and taking us out to lunch and I  can’t stop pointing out his need for a haircut. Scratch that – nobody needs a haircut. I couldn’t stop pointing out my want for him to have a haircut.

It is not that I care so much what my father looks like. It is more that I want to see him feel good. I want to see him strut around all clean and frisky like the strays. Content.

Okay. So I lost the haircut battle. One thing I was unwilling to budge on was the second hand smoke.

We walked in to the trailer and were immediately engulfed in cigarette fumes strong enough to fell a horse. I did an about face and took my baby right back outside. I suggested we find a nearby diner to hang out at.

Funny, I have no problem harassing my father to get a haircut, but I can”t come right out and say, “Your trailer has the air quality of a carcinogenic forrest fire and I don’t want my baby’s tender lungs subjected to it.”

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August 20, 2006

Today is my birthday. I am 28 years old. As a child I used to get very excited about my birthdays and walk around all day feeling entitled. As a teenager I used to get depressed on my birthdays and feel under appreciated. Now, as an adult and mother I don’t feel anything at all. I hadn’t realized my birthday was even coming up until my mother reminded me.
We are in California at my parent’s house. Today is very low-key. Yesterday my parents hosted a large party in my honor – there was birthday cake and singing, but it was really a party to welcome Karis.
I am getting ahead of myself – let me detail how we arrived on the west coast in the first place:
A day before our scheduled departure there was yet another flying related terrorist attack foiled by the good guys. This particular attack involved some form of liquid explosive. The result was both good and bad. The good; People were terrified to fly which cut down on airport crowds. The bad; You are no longer allowed to carry on anything liquid, with the exception of baby formula and Rx drugs. That means if you bring any toiletries – toothpaste, shampoo and the like, you HAVE to check your bag. By day 4 of this new rule hotels were already reporting a shortage of mini shampoo bottles.
We went to the airport early expecting the worst. Amazingly enough, it was the easiest check-in I’ve ever experienced. There wasn’t even a line at security! We just walked right up to the metal detector and were on our way. We boarded with no problem and settled in for a five hour flight. I tucked Karis in to the sling and she slept pretty much the whole way.
About half way through the flight I noticed a tightening in my breasts. I tried very hard not to think about it because acknowledging my breasts only makes the milk come faster. I was as successful as you would be if I told you to close your eyes and not think about white elephants. Huh.
One hour before landing I felt a familiar tickle on my ribs. I looked down to find my shirtfront soaked with milk. I stuffed a burp cloth down my shirt to staunch the flow.
By the time we landed I no longer had breasts. Instead I had two painful rocks attached to my chest. My right breast, in her eagerness to feed the world, was bigger than my left , but even lazy lefty was engorged.
We had a 45 minute layover in Phoenix. I settled The Boy and Karis at our gate and ran to a bathroom. It was very strange leaning over the toilet bowl and watching my clean, white milk cascade into the water. The first few drops danced to the bottom in a beautiful pearly spiral, but soon the water became cloudy. I hated to see so much milk flowing into such an undignified watery grave. I can only imagine what the other women in the restroom were thinking. I must have resembled a petite transvestite as I stood, feet facing the bowl, groaning.
The last leg of our trip was quick. We even managed to find our luggage on the carousel almost immediately. A phenomenon that would happen two more times in two days!
My step-father was there to pick us up. Upon meeting him Karis let out a thunderous fart. It was love at first sight.

Here is Karis on her first plane ride. Also shown are The Girls, dutifully working hard to end world hunger.

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August 14, 2006
All breasts are NOT created equal

I hold this truth to be self-evident; All breasts are not created equal! Everything seemed to be going along nice and even until three days ago. Thursday night my right breast decided the time was right to show the world just how much she could produce! No more would she plod along beside Lefty, content with being considered an equal. Oh no, she needed the limelight.
At first I ignored her efforts. I thought she was having a good day, but would settle down after a good nights’ sleep. When I awoke Friday morning she was still full throttle.
In an attempt to motivate Lefty to step it up a notch I nursed exclusively off the left breast the entire morning. It didn’t seem to help. I’m not really surprised by this because I’ve got to be honest with you, my left breast has never really been much of an over achiever. She’s always been pretty content with just getting by.
I was able to shrug it off and chalk it up to yet another quirky, uncontrollable bodily function to materialize after giving birth. Until this morning.
This whole lopsided breast business has become a slippery slope. My over achieving, praise seeking right breast has become a full, very noticeable cup size larger than my depressed, lazy left breast. Upon consulting seasoned lactaters online on a parenting chat board it has been determined that one of three fates await my breasts:
One, they’ll even out in a few days. Two, they’ll even out when I stop nursing. Or three, they’ll be forever lopsided.

Let’s take an inventory shall we? Pregnancy has left me with a pigment stain on the left side of my upper lip that looks too much like a mustache for my liking, a dark line racing down my abdomen, the delightful phenomena I refer to as “jell-o waist”, and now lopsided tits. All of which may go away in time. Or not.

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August 8, 2006
Nipples and Toes

There are new developments afoot. Karis has found her toes! She doesn’t understand that said toes are hers, and attached to her feet, but boy does she take notice of them when they wander in to her line of sight.
The Boy will lie down and prop her up on his chest facing him. This position puts her feet right out in front of her. She’ll spend the first few minutes making eye contact with The Boy and flashing flirty smiles. Then she’ll look down.
Her whole demeanor changes when she catches sight of her toes. Her eyes bug out intensely and she starts grunting with excitement. It’s as if she’s saying, “You again! I thought I told you toes to stay out of my yard!”
If The Boy leans forward a bit she can grab at her feet. Yesterday she successfully pulled on her big toes so tight she surprised herself. She was so excited, seemingly shouting, “Ah ha! Victory is mine! Now I’ve got you – you little bastard toes!” TUG “Ouch! Dear God – what’s that unpleasant sensation emanating from my feet?”
I find the whole scene endlessly entertaining.
A not so cute development has also occurred. The Boy refers to it as “The Poison Nipple”. Karis will get grunty and gassy and start kicking up a fuss. We’ll try different ways of calming her to no avail. None of the usual tricks work; Not  The magic spot, (tucked under The Boy’s arm up against his ribs) not The dance, not even The belly flop, splayed across a pillow on her tummy for gas relief.)
The charming “Poison Nipple” title comes in when I try to nurse the fussy little changeling. She’ll latch on and suck fiercely for two seconds, then spit out my nipple and shriek like a banshee.
I’ll calm her a bit with some rocking and offer her the breast again, which starts The Poison Nipple reaction again.
Suck. Suck. Shriek!
It’s all very endearing.

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August 6, 2006
Sex revisited

I was looking back on my past journal entries and had to laugh at my entry made 16 days post partum. I seemed to be under the impression that since my mind was ready and amorous, my body wouldn’t necessarily need to grant permission for extra curricular activities to resume. Alas, I was mistaken.
I was told not to attempt sex again until I was 6 weeks post partum and had stopped bleeding. I didn’t stop bleeding until well into week 7, so it was one day before Karis’s 8th week birthday that we finally had sex again without a third party in residence.
It was pretty much as expected. Pleasant during, but surprisingly tender afterward. It burned like fire. “Well, “ I thought. “So much for worrying about being all stretched out down there.”
All of that excitement stirred things up a bit and I started bleeding again, which put off a second attempt at sex for several days. Two weeks to be exact. Our next sexual encounter was this morning. Even though I was totally in to it would you believe that it actually hurt more than the last time? What is going on here?! It has been 10 WEEKS.
The Boy says it hurts from lack of use and suggests we soldier on. Humph. Typical boy answer.
What I can’t figure out is how some women, my grandmother for example, have children only 9 or 10 months apart! That’s no recovery time at all! I guess they just don’t make vaginas like they used to.

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August 5, 2006

The Boy changed Karis today without even being asked! TWICE!! First he changed her diaper and gave her to me in bed. I fed her and we snuggled back to sleep. A bit later he came over for a snuggle of his own and said, “She’s wet.” “Did she spit up?” I asked. “No, around her diaper area.” “Did you put it on right?” “I think so.” He took her over to the changing table and replaced her diaper, and then he stripped her. He took out a long sleeved sleep sack. We’re in the middle of a 100 plus degree heat wave, so I felt compelled to stop him and suggest a lightweight onesie.
It took two attempts to get it over her head and afterwards he said he thought he almost pressed his thumb through her soft spot, but he officially dressed his daughter all by himself!
He handed her back to me with great pride and a palpable sense of achievement. Karis was very dry and happy. All was well in our little corner of the universe.

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