October 14, 2005
SOME RANDOM SEMI-RELATED THOUGHTS AND MILESTONES WITH NO NARRATIVE STRUCTURE WHATSOEVER, JUST BECAUSE I AM DETERMINED NOT TO WRITE ONE OF THOSE "DEAR BABY" LETTERS THAT EVERBODY ON EARTH DOES.
Two weeks ago today, I had a baby. We named him Noah because we liked it, and as Diana pointed out, the only Noahs most people know are "the Bible guy and Hot Doctor Carter."
His middle name, Corbin, is the Latin version of my maiden name. It was Jason's top choice for a first name -- a choice I vetoed strongly because of Corbin Bernsen and also because I suspected Jason really liked it because The Fifth Element is one of his favorite movies, the big adorable nerd.
His eye color continues to be a mystery.
He has a very pronounced overbite that he got from me. I'm sorry. I'm living proof that it can be fixed by middle school, however, so that's a plus.
He has a very deep dimple on his left cheek.
His umbilical stump fell off too soon and had to be cauterized. It's still icky but it looks like a nice little innie belly button is forming beneath the ick.
He smiles a little when Jason strokes his head. He screams when I do it.
He weighed 10 pounds, 1 ounce at Wednesday's doctor's visit -- he's gained back everything he lost and then some. I was officially declared the superstar...um, lactater of the lactation practice.
The pump has now been downgraded to necessary evil to a use-for-convenience-sake kind of thing, i.e. when Mama wants to drink some delicious wine.
Although he's over his birth weight, he looks nothing like the fat, rolly-polly newborn I had at the hospital. His body is long and lean with just a few little chubby spots, although he does seem to have like, six chins.
Orange juice makes his tummy very, very mad.
My thrush symptoms are all but gone, and his mouth is spot free. The only persistant sign of the infection is the horrible, stubborn rash on his bottom.
I have started saying "bottom" instead of "ass" or even "butt."
Things That Have Been Tried On The Evil Diaper Rash That Have Not Yet Worked, And Any Suggestions Not Found On This List Would Be Appreciated:
1) Desitin (Creamy AND Regular), Balmex, Dr. Bordreauxhoweveryouspellit's Butt Paste
2) Perscription-strength butt paste.
3) Centany ointment.
4) Gentian Violet.
5) Apple Cider Vinegar solution (which to be fair, was only tried once, but my GOD, THE SCREAMING)
6) Cetaphil and warm water instead of baby wipes.
Also, why didn't anybody tell me what an awful, awful movie The Aviator was? I feel like I should have been warned. I was at least warned about A.I. so it was my own fault for wasting like, five hours of my life watching THAT ponderous piece of shit.
The problem with Netflix is that you need to mail movies back before they'll send you more, which is unfair because that means I'm expected to go to an actual mailbox which is really, really difficult all of a sudden.
My shoes fit.
My wedding rings don't.
My tummy is going down, but is still a mushy little pooch of overextended flesh.
My pre-pregnancy jeans still don't fit. Damn mushy pooch.
I went to The Gap and bought a pair of Emergency Fat Jeans two sizes above what I used to wear. When I got them home I realized I'd forgotten to test them while sitting down, which, OW.
I really, really love my diaper bag. SO THERE.
I was recognized by a reader at Panera, and by my neighbor across the street. It's weird, yet awesome. Except that I always hope they aren't thinking about my nipples.
Not that I could blame them, because I have talked about my nipples a hell of a lot lately.
If anyone else out there gets nipple thrush, I highly recommend the apple cider vinegar solution -- one tablespoon vinegar and one cup water, apply with a cotton ball after feedings. It'll clear things right up (well, at least when combined with Diflucan and a prescription cream) and is less messy than that Gentian-Violet-Smurf-Nipple-Purply-Blue stuff, which I cannot stand.
I'm terrified to let Noah grow up.
When I think of sending him out in the world where other kids will be mean to him...where his feelings will get hurt and I cannot make it better...where some adults think nothing of hurting children...where I cannot protect his little heart and body from All Bad Things...
I start to shake with anxiety because MY GOD, my love for this child. It's off the charts.
(I'm...um...also anxious because apparently it has been decreed that we all must give up lip gloss and go back to matte lipstick for fall, and I'm not sure I'm up to it, emotionally speaking.)