The Texture Of Things

Checking In

October 16th, 2008

I’ve been under the radar since just before the baby was born, and I didn’t mean to be. So, I’m posting this to let everyone who reads here know that:
1. The Boy was born, healthy, squalling, and PISST at being evicted. I guess he hadn’t gotten the news about all the recent foreclosures.

2. We are home and as well as can be. My recovery is not all rose petals and champagne, like I remembered it (or, like I mis-remembered it), but all the pieces-parts seem to be in the right place and I’m not hemorrhaging, so that’s good.

3. The tot is an amazing child, and we couldn’t be more impressed with how she’s handling the interloper.

4. The cats are not impressed by anything.

5. I think we’re going to try Tater as the boy’s blogonym to see how it fits. If it doesn’t, we might just stick with The Boy. Not sure yet.

6. It was very important to me to be able to breastfeed this child, and so far it’s going okay. Not awesome, but okay. Tater was tongue-tied, which we got clipped, but nursing is still hurty. But still! Nursing! I never got to say that with the tot.

Now, why would I tell you that I’ve chosen to feed the boy with my boobs? Because it’s connected to my three favorite times with this baby so far, and I’d like to share those.

Story A:
I hadn’t been home from the hospital long, so HG was still helping me get situated when Tater would need to nurse. Tater was squawking and HG was soothing. I got seated and popped my top, at which point HG lowered the baby so as to hand him to me. Tater was still squawking, until he saw my boob. He saw it, did a double-take, and his expression went from “I! AM! SO! PISST!” to “Oh! Hello, friend!” in a microsecond.

Awesome.

Story B:
I was holding Tater in the football hold while nursing him the other day. The football hold means the baby is lying next to me with his feet pointed back and his head is at my breast. My arm is wrapped around him like I ought to be posing for the next Heisman trophy carving session. In this position, he was able to look across the breast in his maw to see the other one, and I’m certain he was making eyes at it. I’m not kidding. Like, “Hey, maybe we can get together some time” + bats eyelashes.

I have never been quite so popular in my life as I am right now.

Story C:
This is, when I’m lucky, a repeating episode. In the morning, after he fills his gigantic stomach and falls into a milk coma, I put him on my shoulder and listen to him sigh. Only newborns make this sound, and I’m trying to enjoy every moment of it since this will be the last baby in this house. It’s a sort of rhythmic hanh hanh hanh that comes through his nose but sounds like he’s forming it with an open mouth. It is the same sound the tot made and it is just about the best sound in the world.

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