Loose Ends

Okay, it was bad. Very bad. And then...it wasn't. Wombat cried (SCREAMED) and I cried, and while I did my best to comfort my baby, both Simon and the nurse were comforting me. (I did consider feeding him during the ordeal, but my kid's a biter and although I wanted to soothe his pain, I didn't really want to share in it, thanks.) Three shots, two Snoopy bandaids, one bill of perfect health, and a hearty pat on the back for another three pounds of delicious babyfat acquired (at 23.5 inches and 12 lbs. 12 oz., he's now in the 75th percentile for length and weight) = not too shabby for a month's work. So where the hell's my lollipop, doc?

Happily there were truffles at home, so my bravery did not go unrewarded. The baby's reward was an afternoon of extended "tummy time," and not the kind where he's forced to endure second upon unbearable prone second of tourturous neck exercises but the kind where he smooshes his squishy belly against my squishy belly and tucks his fontanelle against my chin and we rest quietly like that for as long as we want and no one worries about spending naptime being productive. Pretty good payoff, I think; "You mean I get to snuggle with mom all day and opt out of whooping cough, diptheria, and rotovirus? Score!"

Obviously a "before shot" shot. More here.

***

While I have your eyes, let me also take a minute to tie up some narrative threads I've left dangling. The big ones--the birth story and pictures of my engagement ring--will have to wait until next week at least, but let's see if I can tackle a few others.

1.
Simon's Mustache-a-thon is still going strong, so if you want to donate but haven't yet gotten around to it, you have two more days. And if you think growing a moustache is not a sacrifice or an exertion the way fasting or running a marathon is, please know that it has disrupted our lives to the fullest extent possible for facial hair, and we'll both be glad to see it (and its resident crumbs and barbecue sauce) go the way of the mullet in the more civilized of metropolises. When Simon jokingly threatened to shave off the stache into a plastic bag for posterity, I didn't even crack a smile. There's nothing funny about a moustache that has overstayed its already tenuous welcome. Also nothing funny about cancer.

Red-headed Fro Baby says DONATE!

2.
Remember how worried I was about the post-birth Descent of the Family, a function of my acknowledged paranoid inflexibility? I never got around to posting about how it all went, partly because we were so insanely busy that first month but also because everything went so well I never wanted to leave the party long enough to sneak away and write about it. My mom's flight got in the night after Wombat's birth (right on time despite all my worrying about the schedule) (it seems I do a lot of worrying about scenarios that never come to pass, eh? there must be a lesson in there somewheres...), and for all my fears that I wouldn't be like every other new mother who says she couldn't have survived those early days without the support of her own mother, I'm happy to report that I found my mom not only cheery and delightful and helpful but downright indispensable. She cooked and cleaned and fed the temporarily forgotten cats, and in doing those three tasks alone, she effectively kept me out of the kitchen for two whole weeks, meaning I didn't even have the opportunity to chance being offended by how the bowls were stacked in the cabinets. It was so nice to have her here that we extended an open invitation, which she took us up on last weekend, to great effect:

Wait. You mean she did this to me?
Oh, but I love her anyway.

2a.
My dad also visited during Wombat's first week, and he held the baby and fixed the back door and the front door and the bedroom light switch and Simon's old-timey radio, but--and I'm sure this won't embarrass him in the least--he was mostly just there to meet the cat. Perhaps I should make him a brag book full of photos of his grandkitteh.

2c.
Having Simon's family here was also great, especially since they rented a house that not only allowed them their own space and schedule but also afforded us all a clean and calm venue for gathering. Our house fell into bedlam as soon as my mother crossed state lines, so it was nice to escape the chaos and spend our too-brief time with them in a tidy home with a Christmas tree in the main room instead of locked in a side room that no one goes in because that's the only way to keep the cats from eating the artificial needles and the lights and the glass ornaments HINT HINT LINUS AND EVE.

With Auntie Mel

3.
Okay, check THIS shit out: Remember that one guy I dated for about seven years and almost married? The original "boy" of agirlandaboy.com? You know, the guy I remained really good friends with for a year after we broke up but then haven't seen or spoken to since he got a new girlfriend in May of 2005? The guy who basically made it known that I was dead to him, in large part because of whom I was dating (that would be Simon)? Yes, that guy. Well, imagine the gobsmackedness in our household when last week we received a bit of mail from this ex-boyfriend and not only did it NOT contain anthrax but it was a card congratulating us on the birth of our son and wishing us all the very best. A card he went out and bought for this specific purpose and then wrote a kind message on and then sent to our house after no doubt confessing to Teddy that he needed our address in order to send said card. Longtime readers, I hope you didn't bruise your respective chins when they hit your respective floors. Me? My chin hit the floor and then my eyes welled up and then I paced around the house for ten minutes pinching myself and stubbing my toe on things just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Now, I'm not naive enough to think this means we're all going out for drinks this Saturday night or that he'd come to our wedding with bells on, but it was still a hell of a nice gesture, especially considering the history and the circumstances and the context and especially considering that, after almost four years of not speaking to each other, it wasn't like I was going to be all hurt and put out if he didn't send a card acknowledging the blessed event. I'm still in shock.

4.
This isn't so much tying up a loose end as it is opening up a new thread. It's Barbie's 50th Anniversary, and BlogHer is helping celebrate with special offers and a network-wide promotion of some HUGE Barbie-related events. Part of the campaign is devoted to reviewers (that's me!) and readers (that's you!) sharing their favorite Barbie stories and memories. Click here to share your stories, to read what Simon and I wrote, and to find out which one of us was the bigger Barbie fan as a kid...

wrote Leah at 6:37 AM | Comments (16)