Month I

Dearest Mustard/Mon cher petit Moutarde,
I just wanted to fill you in on your life so far seeing as you won't remember it just a few short years from now and you're just too cute to go to waste. I'm typing while you nurse, one arm a little weighed down. It seems like that's all you do nowadays. Drink. Feed. Suckle. Enlarge.

Your extra long, delicate fingers make intricate shapes in the air as you concentrate on my breast. It feels so wierd and cool having something as real and as little as you depend on me for everything. Wierd and so frikkin awesome. I like you already.

I was a little nervous because I thought I wasn't going to be a good enough mommy. I still am. There hasn't a week gone by that I haven't had some crisis as to what to do about you. "Is that bump on his head normal?" "Is he supposed to eat that much?" "Hiccup that much?" "Poop that much?" I guess, you ARE a boy. Maybe I'll gain some confidence in time. I hope.

I'm proud of your accomplishments: lifting your head up to strain your turtlish little neck around. Often, when I'm holding you and talking I'll get the strange feeling that I'm being watched, I'll look down to see your beady little eyes studying me intently. You'll squeeze them closed quickly to try to trick me into thinking you've been sleeping all along.

When you were born I loved you as an idea. My own little alien mushy.
When I saw you I loved you as the epitome of perfection, every line and feature exquisitely drawn, and all mine. (Mua ha ha ha)
But now each day attaches a little part of you into my heart. All your goofy faces that you weren't supposed to get from me, your toes that splay out like a fan, your crooked grins at some unseen joke. I think you're just about the swellest thing EVER.

P.S. Um, the projectile pooing and peeing like a sprinkler when I change you I could do without.

Much love, Mommy

sweet nectar of the gods.

Picked up a CD at the library entitled: Music for Learning! It boasts a variety of everyday soothing noises such as traffic, exotic bird calls, deep gutteral blurps, and baroque inspired arrangements by artists like Bach, Vivaldi and Corelli. The intent being to smarten up your pants, and in so becoming, a Smartypants.
Just this morning as I slid into my favorite trousers they began chiding me in an obscure Mayan dialect, "Wee wee op su nae." Just as it means nothing to you, it meant nothing to me. So I ignored their warnings. (Translation: Doom approaches wearing soft green deerskin thongs.)

Other than that, my nine month fast is over. I can partake of the alcohol again! The upside of having a bartender as a boyfriend is they can make you some mucho fantastico drinks. So the other night was Margaritas..

I think it undid all the effects of my Learning CD and my pants dumbed down and went back to speaking their native jive.

Thankfully, tequila is a universal language.



It seems like forever since I've been online and an even longer since I've logged into this here bandicoot. With no internet at the apartment, I'm of the frame of mind that blogs should only be had if you don't have to Go Anywhere to do so.

BUUUT..occasion calls for it in light of my World Shaking News.
I've birthed a birthling.
However, since I'm in recovery and only making small trips out into bright sunlight this is going to suffice right now for all the pictorial demands and newsy information. I'll try to make it good. If you have my number, feel free to call:)

Siigh, where to begin. It's like skipping a really great part in a movie cause you went to the bathroom or something and then trying to get somebody to tell you what happened while you were gone...it's not easy. Uhhh..okay. Here's a pleasantly cheesy shot of me all rounded out:

Funny story behind this picture actually. The whole nine months long I figured I should take me some photos for memorials sake of the tummy but always put it off for another day seeing as I'm just really not one for photos (don't worry, I'll make up for it in the following minutes. You'll see.)
Finally, one early morn I wake up with wierd pangs (am I hungry?) in my tummy (am I thirsty?) which turn out to be tara-taran!! Contractionatos!! (I am..happy!)

So I'm all like DANG!! What's up with my procrastination? So Anita whips out the camera and voila, caught it just in time. Only problem being, I'm not feeling my chipperest, if you know what I mean. (That was a lot of nothingness..ON with the story!)
Oh wait. Another pic: me and my wittle sis who miraculously just happened to be visiting, YAY!

Oops, one more: Seth and I

SO! Where are we now? Ahh yes, HOP! in the car goes the merry little foursome. BRUM! goes the little engine. GRUPH! goes Seth with the gears EEK! go the girls holding on to their seat belts. HAHA! goes Liz because her tummy hurts.

I guess we looked pretty jolly and not so "laborish" because they sent me home saying, "No No, this baby will not come today". (Me and baby knew better because we we had plans, big plans)

One hour later, back at home: HOP! in the car goes the anxious foursome. BRUM! goes the little engine. GRUPH! goes Seth on the gears EEK! goes the girls as we hurtle onwards. HA-AHHH! goes Liz (with a little sqeak of discomfort)

They hooked me up with this pimp gown and body belts:

Everyone was shocked at how baby and I had tricked them: "What? What? He'll be out within the hour!" I try to grin because I had tried to tell them so but it's a little hard when your insides are being wrung out by the mighty hand of God.

CAUTION: Grizly scenes up ahead. May want to pass over next paragraph.
After much heaving and hoing (a little on the side: I have new respect for women in this predicament. I absolutely do not see how they go through it and then decide to do it again. Not to scare anyone, muahaha), little baby man gets stuck somehwere in the bony pelvic region and WISK! goes my little bed CESAREAN! cry the doctors GULP! blinks Liz SUIT! says Seth

(Let me pause here to say, if at all possible - STAY AWAY from this kind of delivery. I guess most people don't go looking to get a C-section and for good reason. It is the polar opposite of fun and hurts like the dickens. Blech!)

But 500 times over worth it is this little tiny squeal that comes out of the other side of the blue curtain. SQUEAK WAAH! says Baby. SQUEAK SNIFF! goes Liz and everything goes a nice peachy shade of swell.

So enters Avicus Grey on the 27th of September, in the year of our Lord 2006. (in all his 6 pound 10 oz glory)

I'm not quite sure how to sum up just how psyched I am to have him and how completely and foolishly in love with him I am. I'm becoming everything I always joked I'd never be. And you know? I don't really care.
I could go on but my tummy is sounding like a pending thunder storm so:

That's the tale. Thanks for listening. Goodnight.