Hey! Penny is eight months old! A while ago! But she’s not nine months old yet, so… victory!
So, my daughter. What a delightful little asshole she is. Let me tell you about her.
Words: None.
Movement: Can still only roll back to belly. No locomotion.
Teeth: Two!
Firsts: Christmas. Plane rides. Waves.
Loves: Riding in the shopping cart, obvs. Collecting adoration from retirees in the Commissary.
We shop a lot, okay?
Food-based likes: Noodles, apples, bananas, puffs, waffles, banana toast, broccoli, chicken noodle soup, chili, whatever you are eating right now what’s that you got there I want it.
Music-based likes: The Rocky Theme, 90s summer hits, anything with the word “Penny” in it, any song that can be altered to be about Penny. Dashboard Confessional.
Hates: Having her nose touched.
Annoying features: The two fisted punch of teething and travel-related sleep disturbances. Weird raspberry/spitting thing.
Weird-ass features: Squawks. Shrieks. Shakes with excitement over just about anything, but mostly approaching food. Bounces while laying on her back or while being held. I don’t know, you’ve got to see this shit to believe it. She’s an odd one, this Penelope.
Finds hilarious: Fake sneezes. When an adult mimics her weird-ass bouncing. Sheldon. Attempts to “eat her belly.” Weird jokes that only she understands.
Finds terrifying: Other babies.
Anyway, Penny hasn’t really made any super developments over her last month. We were really busy with the holidays, of course, and she did great. She was perfectly content to be passed around strangers and was a champion flyer. She cleaned up at Christmas, gift-wise, and loves every single present equally. So she thinks. I have not yet broken out the parachute.
I’ve thought this before, but I think it again this last month – it seems like we’re really figuring this stuff out. She started out this shrieking mystery of unnamed needs, but at this point, we know at a glance what’s up with her. We know when she’s tired, when she wants to eat, how much she’ll probably eat, how to calm her down, how to put her to sleep, how to handle her in public, how to distract her when she’s about to lose her mind, how to make her laugh, how to entertain her. It wasn’t that many months ago that I didn’t think that any of that would ever be possible.
I know that eventually we’ll hit some terrible phases, but at the moment, we continue on the uphill climb that started when she started smiling. Which she still does. All the time.
And she also waves, which is hilarious, because while at first it looked like she was waving “hi” and “bye” appropriately, now it seems she waves to signal that she’s tired or cranky or wound up. She definitely waves, she just doesn’t exactly get when she’s supposed to.
She also recognizes Phil as “daddy,” but hasn’t quite put together yet that I’m “mama.” I don’t really refer to myself that way – you know, “Mama’s here,” or “Mama’s got you,” or “Mama is going to put you in the closet if you don’t can it.” I probably should, but while I talk to her ALL DAY LONG, talking in that way doesn’t really come too naturally to me. Phil’s great at talking to her and playing with her and reading to her. I, on the other hand, basically talk to her all day like she’s a girlfriend come to visit and hang out while I do laundry. She’ll probably call me “Hey.”
Whatevs. That’s fine. We know we’re buds, and that’s what counts.
You know what month eight really was? The month it started boggling us how different she’s become. We can’t believe it. We say, “Remember when she… ” and “Remember how she looked when… ”
It’s not that she’s gotten so big, exactly. It’s more like… was she really ever that SMALL?
Can no longer be counted on to just LEAVE THAT BEAR ALONE FOR TWO SECONDS I JUST NEED TO TAKE ONE PICTU– COME ON!
So! Yesterday, Penny was 4 months old. Up until now (she says, as if it has been ages of predictable and reliable behavior), I’ve managed to post her month update on the day, but I told you long ago to not expect too much from me in the way of regular monthly updates and in all honesty, I feel like a day late is little to sniff at when I have kept it up for FOUR MONTHS NOW.
I didn’t get to make the post yesterday since Penny had two medical appointments – her four month check up and a follow up on her hospital stay with one of two specialists she will need to see. Also, we’re expecting house guests, so we’ve been busy. Penny will be meeting her great grandmother for the first time, and we didn’t want our neglected house to take away from the full Penny sensory experience.
Entirely too much of this month looked like this:
In fact, it was pretty much exactly at three months that we took Penny in to the doctor on suspicion of a severe drop in awesomeness, so Penny’s health has basically been the focus of this entire month. Two weeks were spent going back and forth to her pediatrician, trying to work out what was going on, five days were spent in Phoenix Children’s Hospital, and the last two weeks have been working on getting back to normal.
Stressful, yes, but one of the reasons we took Penny in to see the doctor in the first place was that she just wasn’t the same. I feel like an asshole saying this, and everyone says you just jinx yourself if you do, but we always had such a good baby. Smiley, happy, only cried when she needed something. And she just changed. She was so unhappy, all of the time. I felt like a moron going in to the doctor with the complaint that my baby cries, and I have to admit that I was worried that the happy Penny times were just a phase, and the upset, crying, miserable baby times were the new normal.
Well, two weeks out of the hospital, and I am relieved to say that misery does not seem to be the case.
“I’LL HAVE THE SAMPLER PLATTER, PLEASE. HEAVY ON THE MILK SAMPLES.”
She went to breakfast with us on Sunday morning and we brought along her Bumbo seat, since we’re working on helping her to regain her strength and muscle tone after what was likely 4 or 6 weeks or more of a brutal infection. Not only did she set a new household record for Bumbo sitting, unseating Phil from the top of the charts, she also charmed the hell out of our waitress with her smiles and general goodnatured baby-ness.
Anyway. Four months old!
Special skills: Bumbo sitting, obviously. Also does these weird, kind of creepy sit ups when she’s swaddled and in her bed at night. OH, also? Sleeping in her own bed at night. Deadly accuracy with hand into gross, drooly mouth. Still not laughing or reaching out for things, but does make a weird quacking noise and will hold some toys if they’re placed in her lap. Gaining weight like a… well, she eats like a hog.
Most annoying features: We have so many bibs and for three months I was all, “Well, I guess the bibs will go the way of the newborn caps, because our baby just doesn’t need them.” And then? Drool. Also? Spitting up. She’s all, “Hey, I just unloaded half my bottle into your lap, so I’m going to require another half of a bottle.” Undisturbed by her own grossness, just suddenly hungry again. In short, it’s bib-city over here. Has also LEARNED HOW TO WHINE AND IT IS SO AWFUL.
Most adorable features: She just smiles all. the. time.
And look, I don’t like to brag (yes I do), but her cloth diapers are pretty damn adorable as well and if you think I’m not going to talk about them soon, you are NUTS, especially considering that this just came in the mail from PinkieBling:
Yeah, that’s a detachable lettuce ruffle, no big. EXCEPT, NO, YES BIG.
She also makes a lot of sounds, the way that babies do, that makes you think that they think they’re actually talking to you. So Phil and I spend a lot of time doing the standard, “Oh, yeah?” and “Is that right?” and “What next?” and “And then?”
And since we’re obnoxious people of a certain age, it is inevitable that as soon as an opening is overheard, someone will shriek, “NO AND THEN!” from wherever they are in the house.
Dislikes: When no parents are in sight. When Sheldon crowds her space. Being naked and also being dressed, as has been the trend. This one super adorable romper she has that just sends her into a RAGE whenever I try to make her wear it. Being wiped clean. (Also? Thank you to everyone who suggested Mustela wipes for the unshakable baby-cheese smell. Because, gross.)
Likes: Songs about babies named Penny. Singing along. The bath, a longtime favorite. The diaper changing song. Waking up in the morning. Watching nerd-television with her dad. Being told exactly what is going on at all times. Her steves, especially Steve Canada, a gift from Lara.
Most desirable features: Sleeping from 7:30/8:oopm until 4:30/5:30am. Really, that pretty much rules. As long as her last feeding is timed perfectly, we can set ourselves up for a solid night of sleep. Too early, and she’s squawking at 3am. She’s also easy to put to sleep. Bottle, bath, diaper, swaddle, bed with someone sitting next to her for 5 – 10 minutes, maybe one return for a pacifier retrieval, and that’s it. She also wakes up smiling at anyone who comes to get her.
However, it is important that we RESPECT the BEDTIME.
There’s a lot of awesome about Penny, but at four months in with a hospital stay behind us, the sleeping thing is pretty much at the top of my list of things that rule.
So. That’s Penny. Her stats at 2 months put her right about average in length and head, and at about the 30th percentile in weight. A few weeks ago, she had dropped down to 8 lbs, 15 oz and right off the growth charts. At four months, she has worked her way back on to the curve.
Hey, so did you know that I spend a lot of time reading baby forums? I wasn’t sure if I ever told you that. I mostly just read in law stories, because parents of new babies have the best and most insane stories to offer, but I come across other ridiculous stuff on the regular as well.
So let me ask you about this one: What’s with ladies who are having girl babies who manage to work into every conversation some point about how they won’t be buying their daughter anything pink, they hate princess stuff, their stupid mother in law keeps buying DRESSES for her baby GIRL, and it’s all so awful, and there will NEVER be ANY of that pink or girly stuff around HER baby because she doesn’t want her daughter to have girly stuff?
Which, I guess, is kind of fine, but you never hear anyone going, “My mother in law keeps buying PANTS for my SON! Doesn’t she know I don’t want any of that PANTS CRAP in my house? And get this – a blue onesie! BLUE! I’m sorry, we’re just not doing that. Nope. I don’t want any of that boy-y shit for MY son.”
Nope. It’s only ever against the girl stuff. And okay, I know there are a couple of people out there who deliberately bought gender neutral EVERYTHING for whatever sex baby they were having for some kind of deep reason, but if that was you, you need to understand that you’re the exception, not the rule, and that this is not about you.
In fact, Internet, the Internet would be a much nicer place if people could recognize when they were an exception
“No, ACTUALLY, I hate Ice Ice Baby, so your offhand comment that everyone loves Ice Ice Baby, a comment composed exactly .05% of this entire blog post , is completely wrong, and even though you made some very excellent points further down the post, I didn’t read them, because I needed to come to the comment section IMMEDIATELY to let you know how wrong you are, because I don’t understand that you made a pretty inconsequential generalization and feel you MUST BE INFORMED that not only is your statement not correct 100% of the time, but I, in fact, am one of the VERY PEOPLE to which it does not apply!!”
and not the rule
“You know, you’re right, french fries do have a pretty universal deliciousness acceptance rate.”
Anyway, Internet. Exceptions and rules. Figure out which one you are and stop shitting on people’s days.
So, right. The vociferous refusal to buy pink, girly stuff for girl babies. (There is a post here on Mommy Interrupted discussing the specific implications of little girls being exposed to a sort of “princess culture” which I think is a different thing entirely, important to discuss and outside the scope of what I am bitching about right now, but available to you if you’re interested in a good read about the topic and have opinions! To share!) I would get it more, I think, if the same thing happened for boy babies, the refusal to have anything blue or any trucks or what have you.
I don’t see why it’s bad or wrong or somehow objectionable (even for the few people that make an issue of it) for your little girl to wear little girl clothes and play with little girl toys. I’m not saying you should PAINT the kid pink or something, but… she is a girl. So why so determined to strip away anything “girly?” I think you’re sending more of a harmful message about “girly” things being shameful than a powerful message about whatever you think you’re sending a powerful message about.
I have no conclusion to this.
*****
Kind of related? People who buy their kid 6 of those wooden toys and nothing else, not because they want to live some kind of Montessori lifestyle with their baby, but because they don’t want that plastic crap all over their house. I think their baby boys also wear ties and sweater vests 100% of the time.
It kind of goes with the whole thing that people are afraid of other people thinking that they’re different now that they have a kid. I have seen that a lot with blogging and with my own blog – Oh, so and so has changed since she had a baby, it’s just awful.
OF COURSE SHE CHANGED, SHE HAD A BABY.
Except no, it’s not really changing, I don’t think. I think you’re the same, but you’re living a different life. I mean, what if you won a bajillion dollars in the lottery? I don’t think it would fundamentally change you, as a person, but you wouldn’t be living the same life any more and you’d probably conduct yourself differently in a lot of aspects of your life. I mean, you could try REALLY HARD to keep everything EXACTLY THE SAME, but I don’t think it would be possible.
(“Actually, I’d keep everything exactly the same!” See above re: exceptions and rules. Jerk.)
Having a baby doesn’t make you a different person, it makes you the same person living a different life. Why would you even want to keep everything exactly the same and as indistinguishable from pre-baby life as possible? You’re still the same person. There’s nothing to be scared of about living a different life. It’s a good thing.
*****
Hey, want to pretend for a second you’re interested in the diapers I bought yesterday because, okay, forget the charade that I buy them for Penny, I was having a bad day and wanted them.
Actually, I only bought the top one yesterday, but the pirate one became available this morning, and my eyes were still all blurry, and these diapers are SO hard to get, and Penny already has two OTHER pirate diapers, which everyone knows is a perfect justification for buying a third of ANYTHING, because now it’s a COLLECTION.
These diapers are all-in-twos, or AI2s, which means that they have two pieces – a shell and a soaker, and the soaker usually snaps in to the diaper. The soaker is the absorbent piece. This is different from all-in-ones (AIOs) because in those, the soaker is sewn inside the diaper. It is different from what is called a fitted diaper, which can be constructed in the same way as AI2s or AIOs, but does not contain a waterproof layer, so require a waterproof cover to be worn over them. And, of course, also different from pocket diapers, which are waterproof and have a pocket that you stuff with absorbent inserts.
Phil likes AIOs, because obviously they are the simplest to use, but they take for-ev-er to dry. Since the soakers in AI2s just snap in, and they don’t require any covering, I’m hoping he’ll like these. He’s always willing to do a diaper change, which is great, but he doesn’t have the same kind of memory as I do for which inserts work best in which pocket diapers, so I usually have to stuff a diaper for him to use anyway.
*****
Penny is closing in on four months old now, and we are dying to get her to laugh, but she seems to be channeling Mandy Moore’s Scrubs character.
“Penny! Penny! Hey, Penny! Poop!”
“That’s so funny.”
“Butts! Farts! Funny face.”
“That’s sooo funny.”
“Tickle! Chick-a chick-a chick-a chick-a TICKLE!”
“That’s so funny.“
“GODDAMNIT BABY, LAUGH.”
“That’s so funny.”
She’s SO CLOSE to laughing that I’ve stopped trying to make her laugh when Phil isn’t here, so that he doesn’t miss it. Of course, this leads to the two of us hunched over her, making total assholes of ourselves, while she just stares and occasionally graces us with a goofy smile and an ALMOST LAUGH.
Seriously, we are making TOTAL ASSHOLES of ourselves.
*****
The picture for Penny’s birth announcements was taken when she was eight weeks old (oops), the actual announcements arrived when she was about 10 weeks old (oops) and the last of them went out when she was 14 weeks old (damn it).
This is what they look like:
I have a pile of them left (okay, and three left to send out, shut up). So, just like my incredibly large stack of lady-part ultrasound pictures (WHY did they think we not only needed to see it, but needed a labeled picture EVERY SINGLE WEEK?), I am left with a bunch of Penny paraphernalia that is useless, but not quite suitable for the trash.
I’m going to go hand them out on some sleazy street corner, I think, so when you get one, you look down, ready to pitch a flier for a strip club or bad comedy show right into the trash, and you’re like, “Whoa, a baby! That’s unexpected!” and then you throw it in the trash, and your day is just ever so slightly better, either from the unexpected baby OR from the one fewer strip club flier you are forced to gaze upon because you’re too polite to say “No, thanks!” to the flier people.
- I’ve realized that having a kid hasn’t really left me with no time to blog, but has dramatically increased my reliance on “here’s whole bunch of unrelated points” kinds of posts. I like to write posts of 1000, 2000 words – you know that by now, Internet, and I appreciate your tenacity as you cling and determinedly troop through the most meandering and excessively EMPHASIZED paths I take to make what ends up being a very simple point.
But to write those posts, I start out with said very simple point, intending to make it very simply, but as it goes along I get more and more EXCITED about what I am saying and so DETERMINED to make myself clear that I just keep going and going and the tips of my fingers start to hurt because slamming the keys will obviously be translated and I imagine myself with my hair getting all stand uppy and maybe a little drool coming out one corner of my mouth. Blogging is not glamorous, people, except for those who make a lot of money from it and then I am pretty sure it is kind of glamorous.
So I get on these key-thumping, flailing-for-emphasis-even-though-you-can’t-READ-a-flail rolls, and it’s hard to generate such fervor and sustain it when you have to get up every 5 minutes to sing songs about butts and return pacifiers to mouths and say, “What-what-WHAAAAAAAT do you WAAAAAANT?”
- I lost my train of thought right here for a second because I had to go sing a song about butts. Also, I’ve been working on another song to the tune of “Mandy” by Barry Manilow. I sing it to Penny while I work on it. It’s about her being an only child and how I’m going to live out my dreams through her and expectations are going to be really high and good luck.
- You see the ad in the sidebar there for Perching at Home? I think you should check it out, and I am in no way obligated by the ad being there to tell you that. I could just take the money and say nothing, you know. But I’m not. Because I REALLY think you should check it out. Especially if you’re planning some adorable newborn pictures for your present or impending baby.
I also think you should check out the crib rail covers, because I think they’re brilliant and perfect for the type of people who have actually made a nursery for the baby, with a theme and a talent for decorating and all.
BUT NONE OF THIS IS MY POINT. And I have two points. They’re not actually points. They’re just some things I want to say.
I was talking on Twitter about the lamentability of adorable footie pajamas having such a limited lifetime, and several people suggested just cutting the feet off, except I didn’t WANT to cut the feet off. I don’t know how to brush Penny’s hair. Having the jorts of the pajama world on her is just too far into unloved ragamuffin territory for me, what with her hair frizz-waving on one side of her head and sticking straight off the other. So, Beth offered to de-feet them for me.
I KNOW I could have just cut the feet off. Just so we’re clear. I just didn’t WANT TO.
You guys – they came out SO STINKING ADORABLE.
She’s only crying because she loves them SO! MUCH!
I love these pajamas. Having them de-footed definitely extends how long she’ll be able to wear them, and stops me from going to Carter’s and buying them in the next couple of sizes, like I did with a certain dress. Also, it is kind of hard to make excuses to go to Carter’s for new clothes when it has been made very clear that the baby hasn’t grown at all.
Also, shorty pajamas are perfect for Arizona. I don’t know what you non-Arizona people would do. Socks, maybe? I am the terror of old ladies everywhere – I basically never put socks on the baby.
Look, I KNOW that YOU just cut the feet off. And that’s FINE. But should you ever NOT want to cut the feet off, but still WANT THE FEET OFF, can I suggest having this done? I told Beth when she offered to do it for me – this should totally be a service. There are neurotic people everywhere who would rather have their pajamas de-feeted than cut them or buy bigger ones. If I am that neurotic, SOME OF YOU ARE, TOO. Thus, valuable service.
BUT THIS IS NOT ALL. Beth sent along a gift for Penny as well.
I was not in any way obligated or paid to say any of this. But look. The crib rail teething covers are just beautiful. She made my baby’s head resemble a Fraggle, which makes me feel pleasantly nostalgic in the way people who grew up in the 80s and 90s like to do (and someone inevitably, ALWAYS ALWAYS, chimes in with “hey, remember slap bracelets??” Yes. We all remember those. And yes, they were banned at my school, too. And then it ALWAYS devolves into people just making lists of random shit they recall “Popples! That waffle cereal! Hypercolor!”). AND she catered to my neurosis by de-feeting pajamas. I’m not OBLIGATED to say crap. But I wanted to. Seriously. Go look at her shop, and come back and tell me what the most awesome thing you found there was.
- Last night, when I was indulging my “stories about in laws” habits (you can indulge yours here and here), I came across yet ANOTHER incident of someone telling a pregnant woman, “Oh, you won’t care once you’re in labor” with regard to having people in the delivery room.
Internet, I heard that a lot. And you know what? I CARED. My mom sat in the waiting room almost ALL DAY for TWO DAYS. She came in when I was on Stadol for an hour or so, and she came in for a good bit of Friday when I had the epidural. The idea is that the pain will make you not care about anything else, I guess, but I was NOT comfortable being observed while I was in pain. The pain absolutely did NOT make me forget – in fact, it just made me want to be left alone all the more intensely.
Even once I had the epidural and was feeling much better, I STILL didn’t forget. I had my mom leave the room for EVERY check. I woke up from a brief drifting in and out kind of nap to find her talking to the nurse and even snapped at her for talking about my medical information. Being in labor did not make me suddenly forget what a private person I am and how much I wanted privacy during labor. It only made me MORE privatey.
So if you’re pregnant and you’re telling someone how you don’t want anyone in the room, and they laugh blithely and say, “Oh, I’m going to be in there. You won’t even care once you’re in labor!” or some woman who has been through it tells you, “Honestly, you won’t care once the time comes,” you should know that those people are CONFUSED. What they’re SAYING is, “I didn’t care once I was in labor.”
And they seem to have gotten a little mixed up and ended up thinking that what happened to THEM is what will happen to YOU.
One of the most frustrating things of first time pregnancy, I think, is the number of people telling you how you WILL feel and what you WILL do and how things WILL go, based on their personal experiences alone. And it can be so aggravating to try to make your case in the face of that – to say, for example, that you KNOW that you don’t want anyone in the room – because they’ve been through it and you haven’t and they take on an annoying, smug air of “Oh, you’ll see.” And it SUCKS having to defend your points from that position. It does.
Just use this translation code from now on: When someone says “You WILL/WON’T __________,” where __________ is whatever, it’s actually just an asshole way of saying, “I DID/DIDN’T __________.” Then you can take it for what it’s worth, depending on who it is coming from.
- Also assholey? On baby forums, the response, “This must be your first baby, right?” in reply to anything deemed even slightly overprotective, from the super experienced, way laid back, “look how little I care about everything and how cool I assume that makes me in your eyes” second-, third-, etc.-, time parents. I’m not even going to go into why that’s so assholey. You should just know that it is.
- Penny had her 3 month portraits done this weekend. It was mostly a shrieking disaster just like what’s going on behind me right now. Here’s one of the pictures.
Well, the title of this post basically spoilers the whole thing, doesn’t it? Penny is three months old today.
This month seems kind of blurry. She’s been around long enough that I know how to work all the basics. We haven’t had any house guests this month, so every day has been pretty routine. So, a solid month of waking up, wiping butts, feeding and swaddling. It all kind of blends together, I guess. But let’s see what can of details I can pull out of my ass so she doesn’t look back at this all traumatized some day.
(I hear that a lot, if you do write something or don’t write something, someday your kid will look back at your blog and be like, “Oh, I can’t believe you wrote I used to poop my pants!” or “I can’t believe you totally blanked out my third month of life!” and there will be door slamming and dramatics, but let me tell you Internet, while my ability to be impressed with myself is mighty, I am not so impressed with myself that I think my teen child will give half a crap about my deep thoughts on her babyhood.)
Did I tell you guys how much she weighed when I did this for two months? 9 lbs, 9 oz. Just in case I didn’t, or in case you didn’t memorize Penny’s vital stats. Well, we had to go to the doctor yesterday, and guess how much she weighed?
9 lbs, 9 oz!
We think. We hope. I’m assuming, anyway. The 9 lbs, 9 oz was a naked weight, while her weight yesterday was 9 lbs, 13 oz, fully dressed and in a wet cloth diaper. So I’ve assigned a baby polo, baby jeans and a wet cloth diaper the weight of 4 ounces and NOTHING MORE, in order to state that she apparently has not gained any weight, but at least has not lost any, and if you happen to know the exact weight of a baby polo plus baby jeans plus a wet cloth diaper, I don’t want to hear it, unless you’re about to say, “Wait, wait! I know for a fact that a baby polo plus baby jeans plus a wet cloth diaper only weighs two ounces!” I’d be willing to entertain that interjection.
“I’M STILL QUITE WEE BUT MAKE UP FOR IT IN VOLUME.”
So, why were we at the doctor, you haven’t asked and probably weren’t going to?
I had to make what I assume is the phone call all new parents eventually make: “I need to make an appointment for my daughter. What’s wrong? Um… she’s different than she was before. I don’t know. I’m not really sure?”
Penny’s always been a pretty happy baby, as you’ve seen from the pictures I’ve posted here, but about a week and a half ago, she just started being miserable. It started just in the evenings – when Phil came home, she’d get really fussy. Then she started to have some struggles with eating – pulling off and screaming before she’d even get started, so that the whole feeding process became an elaborate routine of trying, calming, trying, pacifier, trying, pacifier, Indian Jones-type move where the pacifier got switched out for boob. And we weren’t 100% certain, but it was confirmed at the doctor – she hadn’t gotten any bigger in a month.
Our entire job is to GROW HER, and it wasn’t working. Plus, she was just so unhappy. All the time. It moved from just fussiness in the evenings to crying whenever she was awake. I felt like a dumbass, going to the doctor and saying “Well, she cries a lot.” But really, the last 1 to 2 weeks have been a whole different Penny.
I admit that I was hoping she had an ear infection, because it would be something, and she would take medicine and then be back to normal Penny, but it wasn’t. We’re not entirely sure what is going on, but we left with a prescription for Zantac for suspected reflux, which does seem like a good bet. We’re going back next Friday to follow up, to see if there’s been any improvement, and hopefully a couple of ounces packed on. If not, then the ped said she’d consider a gastroenterologist next, but reflux really does seem to fit, so I’m hoping to avoid that step.
Anyway, how about some not-terrorist-baby-related updates?
“Update: This is my newest expression. I call it, ‘Disappointed Reproach.’”
Special skills: So, Phil and I stopped reading all of the weekly milestone emails.
“By now, your baby can–”
No, she can’t.
“At 3 months, your baby will be–”
Nope, she’s not.
“This month, you should notice that–”
We notice nothing!
Penny’s taking her time on some of the two and three month milestones. She smiles and makes some sounds, but she doesn’t laugh or make many different sounds. She doesn’t reach out for Phil and I, and we’re not totally sure she recognizes us. She doesn’t track too well with her eyes, and has never grabbed and held a toy of her own volition. She’s actually pretty uninterested in toys, books, or anything. She likes to look around the room, sometimes. She’s batted the toys on her activity gym once or twice, but I’m pretty sure it was an accident.
I say all this, but I’m zero percent concerned. Every time I’ve mentioned to my mom that Penny’s delayed on her milestones, she starts talking over me with “Every baby is different!” or “She’s just perfect the way she is!,” as if trying to overcome my worry.
I KNOW those things. I’m NOT worried. The thing is, though, that if she missed a couple milestones here and there, I’d subscribe to “every baby is different.” She misses almost all of them, though – especially the motor skills ones. I don’t think this means ANYTHING negative about Penny, and I’m sure that within a year at the VERY OUTSIDE, she’ll be completely caught up on all milestones.
I do think, though, that it makes a case for the fact that 37 weeks is really NOT as full term as we’ve been lead to believe that it is. It’s full term in physical development, maybe – lungs and ability to regulate body temperature and all of that – in most cases. But Penny spent over a week in the NICU for breathing issues, and now she’s tracking about 3-4 weeks behind on all of her milestones.
I’m not WORRIED. I’m just NOTING.
In summation, my baby has no skills.
“DISAPPOINTED REPROACH.”
Most annoying features: THE DROOL HAS ARRIVED. Also, see above – serious case of Hell recently.
Most adorable features: When she’s not miserable, she smiles – a LOT. That’s pretty cute. She says “oooooo” and “geeee.” Still locked in deep friendship with Bed Frame and greets the furniture with a giant grin every morning. Actually seemed to play in the bath a few nights ago, kicking her leg.
Dislikes: Letting us eat. When the car stops at red lights. Being laid down to have her diaper changed.
Likes: Her dad. Riding in her swing. There’s been a return to being swaddled at night, which she enjoys. Still loves baths, the Penny dance, and Cee Lo. The word “butt.” Songs that include the word “butt.” Such as “What what? Wipe your butt. What what? Wipe your butt.”
Preferred methods of soothing: Standing and swaying – Phil’s method. Tucking and bundling – my method. Neither person’s method works for the other.
Most desirable features: Down to one night time wake up. Can be counted on for two good stretches in the night. Still mostly quiet during public outings. Charms the hell out of waitresses.
“Man, if I died, you would clean. up.”
“Oh, hell yes I would.”
Favorite Parent: The Penny has no favorites right now and spreads her terror equally.
Actually, she still prefers Phil unless she’s hungry.
Like I said way above, our days are basically all the same. We wake up together (yes, we still sleep in the same bed together) and she is all smiles. I try to enjoy those few moments, because she’s got Hell. The rest of the day is your standard cycles of eat, play, nap, though recently there’s been a lot less play and nap and a lot more “HOLD ME OR I WILL SCREAM” and “DON’T DO LAUNDRY OR I WILL SCREAM” and “STOP NOT LOOKING AT ME, OR I WILL SCREAM.” Hopefully that will clear up a bit with the Zantac.
So, here is Penny at 3 months, with the introduction of a new bear – a University of Maryland bear from my friend Chris, who obviously saw the need for some mother-representation in these pictures.
No special skills, my ass: UNgrowing hair. Anyone else got UNgrowing hair? I DIDN’T THINK SO.
I’m sorry for the crappy cell phone quality of her three month picture. The ones I took with the actual camera came out like this:
So. Three months. She’s got a sad case of uncomfortable Hell and a new found refusal to look at the camera and be adorable. And hey, I just got a reminded call about her professional pictures scheduled for tomorrow morning. So, that’s going to be awesome.
Blissfully unaware of how I dress her and also that she’s about to get doctor-poked.
I was thinking today what it must be like to be really good at something you really enjoy. Or maybe not even really good. How about just good enough to acknowledge that you’re good at it. Whichever. I’m pretty sure that the Venn diagram of things I am really good at and things I really enjoy are two distinct circles completely separated by an ocean of apathy and mediocrity.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that you can enjoy things without being good at, and of course there are virtues in being good at things you don’t necessarily enjoy. I just think that maybe being really good at something you really enjoy adds a little bit to life in general.
Also, don’t get me wrong this way, either – I’m not saying I don’t like my life or getting all Eeyore and saying I’m not good at anything. I’m good at plenty of things. And I like plenty of things. It’s just that Column A does not share any items with Column B. I don’t think that affects life negatively. I just think that being good at something I enjoy doing would probably affect life positively. Do you know what I’m saying?
I just wonder what that’s like, that’s all. And I’m not wondering in a sighing, wistful way where you’re supposed to feel bad for me and my miserable, unskilled ways. I’m wondering. Like people wonder about things. The normal way. Like, “Hey. Japan. I bet living there is different.”
*****
Speaking of getting all defensive about people’s assumptions about how I feel about my life, I’ve been spending a lot of time getting all defensive about people’s assumptions about how I feel about my life.
Look, Internet, post-partum depression is a crazy serious thing. Crazy serious. And there should be all kinds of support systems in place for women who are suffering from post-partum depression and all women who have had a baby should be made aware of those support options and we should all know what signs to watch for and we should all know that it’s okay to speak up.
But look. Sometimes I don’t want to preface my irrational rage with, “I don’t have PPD but GET THIS GODDAMN BABY OUT OF MY FACE.” Or, “Look, I’m not depressed, but I need to go in the bedroom, turn off the lights, and not hear any human made sounds for, like, the next 45 hours.”
PPD happens to some women, but it doesn’t happen to all women, and I’m kind of a little sick of having every action and mood change and eyeball twitch viewed through the lens of “lady who just had a baby.” I was prone to random fits of rage and leave-me-the-hell-alone-itis BEFORE Penny came along. Why would it all suddenly be baby hormone related now? Was I supposed to turn into some nurturing ball of sunshine as soon as they lifted that shriek box out of the big ol’ garage door they surgically installed into my belly area, thus anything NON-sunshiney must be some kind of dangerous aberration?
If you spill your coffee on someone and she snaps at you and you say, “Oh, wow, PMS, huh?,” you’re being a LITTLE BIT UNFAIR. The same goes for suggesting my every emotion is a flapping red flag the size of my enormous underpants, surely indicating the onset of PPD. “Your face is really red and you’re screaming a lot of words I didn’t even know existed. I think you need to consider that you might need to be checked for PPD.”
I think YOU need to consider that a tiny person KICKS ME IN THE GUTS all night long, refuses to sleep out of gut-kicking range, and only ever stops long enough for me to fall asleep before delivering another kick, aimed with deadly accuracy right at my surgical garage door. Maybe I am just LEGITIMATELY CHEESED OFF.
I’m going to come kick you in the garage door all damn night and then calmly, so calmly as though I’m afraid you might explode, tell you that you’re probably only mad because you got your hair cut today, and that you should seek help, because it’s not normal to be kind of furious after you didn’t get any sleep because I kicked you in the garage door all night. Stop being ridiculous.
*****
BEFORE YOU SUGGEST THAT I SWADDLE MY BABY, you should know that Penny stopped enjoying being swaddled about a month ago.
AND YOU SHOULD ALSO KNOW that I swaddled her anyway last night.
She cried, but then she slept for almost four hours, had a short wake up for feeding and changing, and slept for another four hours. She laid between us in a tiny No Blankets Land and nary a kick was felt.
All hail the return of the swaddle.
*****
“SWAAAAAAAAAADDLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEE!!!!!”
*****
So, you know how they say that once you’re married (or you live with someone), that’s when you really start to notice the little things? I think they even sometimes advise that you live with someone before you get married (some of they advise that – other parts of they do not, and I make no judgement as to which part of they you may be nor note which part of they I am, but I was pregnant at my own wedding, so, you know). Because, as you probably know, it’s really hard to see the little things when you’re just dating – getting all niced up before you see each other and going out to some third location that is not your home or his home. Once you live together, you’re not always niced up and all the little habits come out.
The theory behind saying this is that once you live together, you’ll see all these little things – weird habits or annoying traits or strange methods – and these will be the things that you will have to decide if you can LIVE WITH FOREVER. Something that was cute when you were seeing each other on weekends is suddenly the WORST THING EVER and underpants on the floor are going to drive you to divorce.
Anyway, this is all preamble to say that living with and being married to Phil has shown me something that he does completely wrong. Are we going to get divorced over it? No. Are we going to fight about it? No. Well, not really. I mean, I do tell him that he does it wrong and he disagrees, but it’s not really fighting because he has no evidence to support his case.
It’s not even something that’s going to drive me crazy. It’s just that we’ve been together a little while now, and I’ve had the time to notice this method of his and plenty of time to inform him that he’s doing this thing totally incorrectly, and even more time, now, that is allowing me to tell YOU that Phil does something completely incorrectly.
Phil opens soda cans wrong. Observe – my can and his can.
HE HAS NO FOLLOW THROUGH!
No follow through, you guys! He brings me a can of soda, pre-opened for my enjoyment, and I get a mouthful of can-tabber-thing. I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m just saying it’s incorrect. And not good.
On the up side, I can always tell which open soda is his and which is mine. Mine is the one you can drink from, and his is the what the hell.
*****
At the risk of being that parent who might need to maybe dial it back a bit, HOW HILARIOUS IS THIS DIAPER?
It’s pink. It’s fuzzy. It’s dalmatian print.
I laughed when I got this diaper in the mail, I laughed the first time I put it on her, and I laugh every time I go to change her diaper and find it under her pajamas.
Oddly enough, though, it – and another pattern I bought with it that is equally as fuzzy – is the best diaper we own. She wears them overnight. They have bamboo inserts and they don’t leak and keep her feeling dry for hours and hours. They’re squishy and soft on the inside, too. I call them her Luxury Underpants.
Come on, though. IT’S RIDICULOUS.
*****
“I’m not only the Swaddle Club for Babies spokesperson – I’m also a client.”
This is how Penny got me to forgive her for KICKING ME FOR HOURS.
The 1am to 4am hours.
Those are the WORST ONES.
Step 1:
Step 2:
Step 3:
Step 4:
HAAAAAAA. Okay, forgiven.
(Confession: I laughed so hard at this that I startled her and she slapped herself in the face and, okay, that also helped a little with the forgiveness for all the kicking.)
I haven't found a convenient, easy to update method of displaying a list of links to all of the blogs I read, nor am I interested in getting all wrapped up in the politics of who is listed and who is not, so here is a link to a single blog that I do, in fact, read, to be updated randomly and completely at my own whim, for no particular reason or reasons I DON'T FEEL I NEED TO DISCUSS WITH YOU, INTERNET, but you can rest assured that I would not maliciously steer you wrong.
Hello! I'm TJ and this is my blog. The picture is a joke, get it? Because I'm INSIDE the INTERNET?
I'm 30 years old and I live in Arizona with my husband and our two big dogs. I've been married for just over a year, and we have a 7 month old daughter named Penelope. You can do the math. It's okay. We don't mind.
Read my stuff. You'll like it.
I know that at some point, this section of my site will be out of date. I promise you in advance, I'm aware of that.
