South Austin Kid

I am listening to angels bowl a strike game and hoping that means this evening will be cooler rather than turning into a tropical sauna.  I would love to take the dog for a long walk and let him run in the park for a while.  It has been over 100 degrees for a lot of days now and none of us are happy about it.  The dog is looking more like a hound than a pit everyday as he plasters his body against the tile floor and pitifully looks up at us.  The cat doesn't bother to move if anyone goes near her and has given up hissing.  The baby won't sleep in anything more than her diapie.  The house won't cool below 83 before 8:30 PM.  And us.  Well, it's even too hot for bourbon.  yeah.  Damn hot.

Li'l Miss Arwen has slept with us for most of her days and is now resistant to sleeping in her crib.  I can see where having to sleep in a crib is not as good as momma::daddo's bed.  It is really a bit of  baby prison.  There are bars to be kicked - which wakes one up in the middle of the dark night - waking up in a big, dark room with no warm body to cuddle against is no fun.  Also, in her crib, there is simply not as much room to rumble.  That rumble part is really where the problem lies (pun not intended).  She has now taken to kicking E and turning horizontal during the night so I want to get her in her own bed for at least 1/2 the night and work up to full night.  She will nap on the floor, so I have considered getting a small kid's mattress and putting her to sleep on the floor (futon style).  Then it occurred to me, I could just take her crib mattress OUT of her crib and use that as a floor bed.  Last night, I tried this and we all slept much better.  She went down just at 8 and slept til after 11, stirred for about 3 minutes, slept til 1 - nursed - slept til 3.30 at which time I brought her back into our room.  E is sad she isn't using her beautiful crib, but I told him if she will sleep on its mattress that is better than nothing.   Besides, the crib is expandable and she will continue to have it until she is at least 4 or 5; at which time, by design, it can be turned into chairs.

Yesterday, I was trolling about apartmenttherapy.com and came across baby::kid room postings.  One of the featured rooms was by Sew Liberated, who recently completed her new baby's room through the Montessori approach.  Many of the comments to the posting of the room she created are in the tone of parental-judgment that is lashed upon parents who don't follow the common majority through their style of parenting.  This tone really irks me, but it seems that it is part of life in the world of "alternative" parenting.  I *love* this room and E has agreed that we will be flatly stealing borrowing some of her ideas.  It was so wonderful to find Meg's Sew Liberated website via Apartment Therapy because her examples put visuals and vocabulary on so many ideas I have had for Arwen's space(s).  I was excited to learn that my idea of putting the mattress on the floor is not mine alone.  As it turns out, my thoughts on parenting and play fall very much in line with the Montessori style. 

We are very big on introducing Arwen to new food.  I think it is really important to get kids interested in new foods at a young age in order to encourage a love for food and all of its variety.  On Sunday evening, we went out for Tex-Mex at Chuy's and I ordered a small bowl of queso so she could try a bit.  She adored it. 

As E returned to the table, I told him how much she like her first taste and suggested he let her have a bit more.  Then I went to the restroom.  Upon my return, the amount of queso in the small bowl had visibly been reduced.

"I see you're eating all my queso," I teased.
"No!  The baby has been eating it.  She LOVES this stuff."
"You mean, she ate all of that?"
"Yeah."
"You, my friend, are changing the next poop diaper."
"Oh.  I hadn't considered the exit strategy."

The last two days have delivered some full diapies.  That is all I am saying.

Our weekend was filled with firsts.  To begin, we bought two trees, mexican plum and crape myrtle, last weekend which had to get put in the ground this weekend.  After reading doing some online reading, E worried our trees were on the road to death due to the fact that we were planting in early summer instead of fall.  Then, he began digging out the hole where I decided the tree MUST live and he hit wood.  Lots of wood.  Apparently, there had been an ash planted in that very spot.  After thirty years or so, ashes die.  When they die, they leave behind a large root system.  That was all on Friday afternoon. 

First thing Saturday, we headed to Shoal Creek Nursery to get tree advice.  First we had to stop for coffee and crossiants because neither of us had realized we were out of coffee.  Between fear of killing trees and not having coffee, E was very grumpy.  The nursery staff was incredibly helpful and encouraging.  As it turns out, the best place for a new tree is on the grave of an old tree (provided the tree died from old age and not some horrid disease).  Reason being, as the old roots continue to decompose they provide a lovely home for the new root system.  Also, the decomposing old roots are great for the soil - spontaneously compost if you will.  And regarding planting in central Texas in late May:  not a problem.  Just water long, slow and deep for the first year.  Armed with this new information, we headed home with a renewed hole digging energy (well, E had renewed hole digging energy and I was happy I didn't have to lay into him with a speech about the zen of gardening and how the tree would make it with proper care and love.  Or. It would die and make new compost.)  All told, the mexican plum took approximately 4 hours to get in the ground. 

Sunday morning he set out to make the hole for the crape myrtle.  Thirty minutes later, it was in the ground.  While he worked on the crape myrtle, I attacked a sticker burr patch that has been trying to hide out in the large flower bed under our bedroom windows.  On one hand, for the purpose of home security, it's comforting to know that sticker plants are hiding out under our windows.  But, like we told the ADT home security guy who tried to hard sell us on reactivating the security system for our address, "we have a dog." That didn't stop the ADT guy from trying to hard sell us. While loitering on our lawn.  While we were working. With a pickax.  We told him,  "Our dog is big.  And.  Guns.  We have guns."  With that in mind, I decided the sticker plants had to go as well.  More so, I don't want them invading the remainder of the yard, which they will do with a quickness.  Thus, I took a deep breath, cut all their tops off and then dug the wounded plants out of the ground, along with the ugly thorny bushes that they were attempting to hide amongst.  Once all that nastiness was out of the flowerbed, I was able to see that several young iris and ruella plants.  I understand the ruella can be very invasive too, but at least it put off butterfly attracting flowers and not evil burrs.

I just KNEW I'd posted last week, but apparently I have no connection to time as it seems my last post was April 7th.  For all the non-math majors in the house, that is five weeks ago.  How can the days soar by so quickly?  Could it have anything to do with a baby who has created her own language and is now hanging out in tripod form on anything she can pull up on?  Could it be because getting her dinner ready takes happy priority to making my own? Though now she is eating everything - including my steak - so I don't have to do much but make sure her meat is  pre-chewed. 

*BREAK*

Am sitting in a coffeeshop on a Friday afternoon.  A father just walked in with his newborn - couldn't be two months old - resting on his shoulder.  Dad
ordered his coffee and then realized he'd left his wallet on the counter in the bank so had to leave.  I can still smell the baby ... so small and completely overcome by the world.  Perfect little beings.

*END BREAK*

*BREAK*

Guy just sat down to eat his muffin.  Took out his retainer.  Placed retainer on napkin.  Did not cover retainer.  I don't like this guy.  At. All.

*END BREAK*

So about my amazing kid.  Yeah.  She is hitting up the President for that open seat on the Supreme Court.  She will totally get the job.

Baby girl, 

I am so proud.  You can use us for leverage in order to stand and it doesn't make you mad to fall down.  You like a little dressing on your lettuce and can gum the hell out of some pizza crust.  You are even figuring out how to push the dog's snout out of your face when he goes in for a lick.  All that is great.  I love watching you grow, but please slow down.  And please stop drugging us at night.  I know you crawl out of bed and find your way to the nearest steroid dealer, get an injection and return home.  That is the only explanation for your mood swings and persistent growth. 

My babylove, you are seven months tomorrow.  Slow down a wee bit.  Soon you'll be running through the house and bouncing on our bed.  Soon, we'll have to lower your mattress so you can't climb out of your crib.  Before we know it you'll be talking up a storm and making menu suggestions.  I can't believe it is all happening so fast.  You have no patience!  I just want to nurse you a little longer and carry you in my arms a few more months.  I don't want to let these moments of babydom pass us by, but there they go, in the blink of an eye.  So many firsts are already gone and every day another first heads out the door.  I just can't believe how exponentially it is all taking place.

Your gamaholly brought you a pair of pants that she made for you.  They are a touch too long, but look great with a cuff.  She is making other clothes and I can't be more excited to see what she creates for you.  I couldn't make those little creations and her timing couldn't be better.  I've started dressing you in our neighbor's handmedowns because you are outgrowing your clothes.  I think the little boys handmedowns are adorable, but your father insists adorable for boys and adorable for girls is two totally different looks.  I figure if we get you used to boys clothes maybe you won't start dating too soon and I can keep you close a few days longer. 

Momma

When Willie Nelson wears his trademark headband, especially in 100 degree heat as he belts out On The Road to a huge audience and his van is running off biodiesel, that works.  That is actually awesome on so many levels. 

When I am walking down the street and see some douchebag wearing khaki sports pants, a western shirt straight off the Urban Outfitters rack, flip flops, and a coordinated bandana headband there is something deep within me that wants to yank off the band and choke him with it.  At least the doucebag didn't pop his collar.

This morning Erich got the baby ready for cool-school and then she got to play with her favorite toy: stackable rings.  Hours of entertainment are held within those rings.  So many sizes.  So many colors. So much to gum on.  A bit later we were ready to head out the door so I picked her up and an odor let me know she'd completed her morning Business Meeting and filed a full report.  So efficient.  When I took her back to change her diaper, I noticed her blue jeans weren't snapped.  I hadn't noticed when I picked her up because her belly was hanging over her waistband.

As I was changing her, I asked, "Erich, what happened with her jeans?"
"What?"
"They weren't buttoned."
"Yeah, her sausage legs make them a little hard to get on and the snap just cuts off her waist."

That was a viable explanation for me and, luckily, her sausage legs do keep the pants on.  We were running late so she and her new friend Tumble Tummy were loaded into the car seat.  When we got to cool-school, I put her on the play floor and let her room leader know, "Arwen is almost too big for her britches, so please don't try to snap them later."  She glanced over at Arwen who was happily grinning from her spot on the floor; wearing a little red and blue sailor top, blue jeans rockin' two inch cuffs, yellow and black mary-jane socks, and a sizable tummy highlighting the whole presentation.

"Oh my god!  Arwen.  Look at that belly!"  Then she started laughing.  Laughing until tears came out of her eyes. 

I went through the usual drill of putting Arwen's food and bottles in the refrigerator and reporting her last eating time.  Then, turned back to the baby floor just in time to see Arwen grubbing on her tummy, fondling a colorful clacky toy.  A toy that another baby was holding. She smiled sweetly at the other baby and then yanked his toy away.  He looked a little surprised, but soothed himself by chewing a plastic donut that was within reach.

So, yes.  My baby was laughed at this morning.  And, yes, my baby seems to be learning to be a wee-grabby bully.  I probably should be worried, but I did let her leave the house dressed like an urchin.

I understand, on occasion, having a memory lapse and forgetting someone's name.  I've forgotten names and am no longer ashamed that names occasionally slip away - sometimes within seconds of hearing said name.  However, if you work with someone; see them nearly everyday; seek advice from them regularly, AND have apologized for using the wrong name, then try to keep the name straight.  Apparently, this is difficult for some people.  I guess it really is my fault, though, because I have been told a couple times, "oh, I guess it is just that you look like a Kelly."  If she says this again, I'll have to remind her that, in fact, I actually look like a KATI.  Kati is what I look like and what my name is and no matter how many times you try to make me Kelly.  IT. IS. NOT. WORKING!

When I drop Arwen off at daycare, I have taken to putting her on the play floor with all the other grubs.  Today, at the last second, I decided to put her in the wee foam chair.  Not two seconds after she was settled the Michelin Man (25 lbs of 9 month old rolly-polly bald dudeness) projected his half digested cereal over the toy he was fiddling with and into a neat little pool.  A little pool exactly where Arwen would have been sitting.  He then looked up at me and giggled. 

Boys are disgusting.

Because every nursing mom needs proper bras, I bought two really nice bras (one just before baby and a second, identical one a few weeks after she was born) and used them quite a bit in the first couple months.  The main difference between a “nursing bra” and regular bra is that the “nursing bra” has boob cups that snap at the strap.  Some nursing bras are padded (which makes for a lovely bouncing padded cup getting in the way when it is unsnapped), while others are not padded (which makes your boobs look like a uni-boob).  Finally, there is the asinine underwire style nursing bra.  This is the worst idea EVER.  Underwire bras are rarely comfortable if your boobs aren’t engorged with milk, but add milk and all sorts of hormones; then, smash all that together with an underwire, and you are wearing a recipe for mastitis because your milk ducts are likely to get choked by the “figure enhancing” underwire.  Hello!  Between taking 40 hours to expel a small human from my birth canal and having my boobs explode from a small B to a nice D in the next 36 hours, I got all the figure enhancing I need for a while.

In the beginning, when it was time to feed Arwen, I would have to struggle to get to the snap undone and release my new, fat boobie for baby.  It doesn’t sound hard, but you try unbuttoning a shirt or jacking a t-shirt up, with one hand, while balancing a baby and unsnapping a cup - that you can’t see - with the other and then, grab that milk buddy with one hand and guide baby’s gaping mouth to your waiting (possibly squirting) nipple.  Good times.  After about a week of this going on every 1 – 2 hours for 24 hours a day, I realized I wasn’t bothering to re-snap the bra.  Nope, I was just walking around with bobbies nearly taking on their own flight patterns.  At night, I never bothered with a bra (see above feeding description and add darkness and even more sleepiness).  Instead, I have always just draped a burp rag over my chest to keep the milk from leaking over our sheets.  Besides, those puppies need to get some fresh air and circulation!

Then, about two months after Arwen was born, I had a revelation.   We were at a friend’s house for a bar-b-que.  Another mom whipped out her boob so her baby could have a milk snack.  And by whip out, I mean she just reached into her cute tattered t-shirt and pulled her boob out over the low cut collar of her shirt.  I never felt so liberated.  From that moment on, I ignored the “nursing bra” and went back to wearing a regular bra (non-underwire).  Now, when I need to nurse the baby, I just move whichever boob out from around its holder and we are all set to go.  No muss, no fuss.  The added bonus is that the bra cup acts like a bit of a prop so my boob is more stable and the baby can eat more efficiently.

My revelation?  Nursing bras are a total sham, just another device to make moms feel like they need more “stuff” to help them take care of their babies. 

Yesterday afternoon, we got a call from daycare stating that Arwen seemed to be feeling under the weather. 
"There doesn't seem to be anything 'wrong' with her, but she's crying a lot and when we touched her ear she got really upset.  But mainly, for her, she is just really upset.  Maybe it is an ear infection."

We left work early to pick her up and, in route, both became very upset at the idea of another doctor visit and I was nearly in tears with wishing we didn't have to do daycare.  That was all exacerbated by the fact that my breast milk pumping didn't go very well over the day.  It was one of the worst 3 mile drives ever. 

When we got to her room, I couldn't immediately spot her as five babies were writhing around on the floor, amidst a sea of plush toys and rattles,  and the noise of shrieks, giggles, and babble-grunts was rumbling the floor.  She too was rolling around on the play floor, working hard to eat a stuffed wiggle snake and shriek-grunt-giggling.   I squatted over her and, after a few seconds, she looked at me and laughed.  We gathered all of her things and headed home with our "sick baby."  As we drove, I looked at her daily report.
"Dude!  She barely slept an hour.  No wonder she was fussy."
"Are you serious?  Of course she was fussy," Erich said.  "I think it just gets so busy in there that sometimes they single out a kid and try to get him picked up early."

This morning, I dropped her off and chatted with her room leader.  I told her Arwen seemed to be fine: ate well, slept well, no grabbing at her ear or any other actions that indicated she was getting sick.  The room leader said, "Yeah, well she was good until about 2 and then just got real fussy [note: at that point she'd only napped from 9:15 til 9:40 AM and had been awake since 5:45 AM].  We took her down to the office to get her temp taken and when they put that ear thermometer in her ear she got really upset, so we figured she might have an ear infection." 

Whoa.  Back the truck up.  She got upset AFTER NOT NAPPING when a big instrument was PUT IN HER EAR.  Lemme think.  Ear infection or pissed off.  My powers of deduction say: PISSED OFF 

The room leader continued, "But then she had a nap and seemed fine again."
Ya think?

Logic says that repeating a process should make the process easier to accomplish.  With that, leaving Arwen at daycare (aka cool school) should now be easier than it was 3 1/2 months ago when she began attending cool school.  Reality defies logic.  This morning I nearly cried before I got out of her sight. 

We started out the day in the normal way: nursing, kisses, smiles, diaper change and dressing, more kisses and smiles and hugs.  She now throws her arms around my neck and burrows her head in my shoulder.  Then, she either raspberries my shoulder or shrieks.  Neither of those things make ever leaving her OR PUTTING HER DOWN hard.  No.  Not at all.  But I digress.  So, we got ourselves all together, into the car, and to her cool school.  Erich waited in the car while I took her in to her room.  She is big enough to hang out in one of the "activity walkers" and she enjoys being in them - bounces like mad and pushes buttons that make all sorts of obnoxious sound - so I sat her in the walker that seems to get more smiles, turned off the sound because it drives me nuts, and went about putting up her milk bottles and mashed avocado.  Then, I went back to her for see-you-soon kisses, turned back on the music, and headed out the door.  I always turn back to watch her and she is always hard at play, oblivious to my whereabouts.  Today, I turned to give her one more check and she was staring back at me.  Staring with big, blue eyes and a pout lip that seemed to say, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

I practically ran out to the car so that I didn't run back to her, snatch her up, and bring her to work with me.  Better yet, snatch her up and insist we all spend the day at the park where she could show off her newest ability: sitting up - UNASSISTED - for more than three seconds.  After the park, we'd go to a coffee shop and watch her giggle at dogs who get reprimanded. 

The giggling at bad dogs began yesterday afternoon.  Arwen and I took a walk with Jack and he attempted to take off, at a full run, to play with another dog.  He tried to run, while I was holding his leash and carrying the baby in the moby wrap.  The other dog was behind a fence.  I could have killed him.  TWICE.  Both times, I let go of his leash - which actually made him stop - and fussed at him.  Arwen thought that was hilarious and giggled up a storm both times.

I went on a momma group walk around the lake today.  It was a gorgeous walk and all the babes/kids were great.  At the end, two other mommas and I sat on a park bench and nursed our kiddos.  Before I nursed Arwen, I changed her diaper.  During her nurse, she pulled off, grunted, made a huge fart and then got back to boobness.  As soon as she was done eating, I changed her diaper again.  While I was at changing her, both of the other babies made poop packages.  So, all three of us were leaning over the park bench with our babies butts in the air.  As soon as we were all done and we'd all gotten everything packed away, Arwen gave me a huge grin.  This would have normally been adorable, but it was accompanied by a second big fart.  Not to be out done by the other babies, she made sure to poop twice.  Of course, her second poop was made this right after I'd given her last diaper - because, "I don't need it. We are headed straight home." - to one of the moms who didn't have one with her because, "I can't believe this - he only poops once a week!"  Luckily, the third mom had extras.  That's what I call community.

I think Arwen will soon be getting a tooth or three.  She is drooling like a leaky faucet and, at night mostly, will get short coughing fits.  I hope the drooling is all that is responsible for the coughing as the sound of her dry hacking is a terrifying sound when it shoots through the dark night and slams me into wakefulness.  Beyond night, the coughs sometimes happen when she first wakes up and occasionally a wee bit after a nap.  However, a couple of the fits have been occurred shortly after a side-lie nursing and have concluded with her milk coming back up.  This has led to me to cradle nursing her, which is amusing in and of itself as she is tall enough now that she more-or-less sits, propped up in my lap, rather than actually being cradled.  I think her drool is so massive that it must build up when she lies down and then slides down the wrong pipe.  That’s what it sounds like: like she’s swallowed wrong and is coughing to rectify her mistake.  Also, she makes this little squeal of relief when she is done; as if to say, “That sucked, but all better now.”

Over the last week or so, I’ve noticed that I seem to have much more saliva in my mouth and feel like I am constantly swallowing spit.  I’ve checked all my teeth and there is no space for any new ones so there is only one conclusion. I am experiencing sympathy drooling. 

We are living in historic times.  Though, if I heard one more reporter use the term "historic day" last week I think I may have had to kick someone in the knee.  As I watched Barack Obama's I began crying.  This country has moved forward in so many ways over the last few decades, yet has so much work to do.  I am excited for our uncertain future ... but all future is uncertain simply by being the future. 

On the afternoon of Inauguration Day, we signed the mortgage documents for our first home.  A white brick ranch near the soon-to-open light rail in Austin.  This last weekend was spent moving stuff into our new place.  Now that that chore is complete we have the weeks of getting it all settled about the house.

Yesterday afternoon, I took Jack The Dog into the vet's office to check on a hacking, goose-like cough he'd acquired yesterday morning.  Turns out, he had a 102-degree fever and his blood test was positive for lyme disease antigens which means he's fighting off lyme disease.  About 18 months ago we took him hiking in upstate New York.  He came home with three fat ticks.  This is probably where he picked up the illness.  Luckily, he's exhibited no symptoms (lethargy, loss of appetite, nerve problems or arthritic movement) so the vet feels a good dose of antibiotics will clean him up.  For the seven days he's on an amoxicillian combo and cough suppressant.  At the end of that regiment, he'll get another two weeks of just straight amoxicillan for the lyme disease.

Baby is doing great.  In the last couple weeks, she has pushed through a respiratory virus and pink-eye.  Her sunny disposition served us all well during her sick days.  Now she is back to her on again, off again, daycare congestion.  Her appetite has shot through the roof and I am hungry ALL THE TIME for trying to keep up with her.  The bananas we tried out on her a couple weeks only got minor interest.  Since then, she has developed a growing interest in grabbing at everything and wanting to taste anything I am eating (or whatever is being eaten by anyone who might be holding her).  She has sucked on lettuce, cabbage, triscuit, apple, banana, several crackers and some pizza crust.  We bought apples and bananas at the store yesterday and will try them in mashed form again over the next few days.

Arwen was born four months ago today.  I can't believe it's been that long, but also can't believe it's only been that long.  She is growing so much and we can see her wee personality becoming larger with each passing day.  She has begun cooing and babbling up a storm.  Yesterday she began a new sound, which is leading to "li'l monster" as a new nickname.  The sound is a low growl.  grroouuuw.  grroouuww. Sometimes this is followed by a near giggle. 

This morning marked her four-month well baby check.  The doctor told us she has "great tone."  This may be from her vigorous attempt to swim when she is given a bath or it could be from her love of throwing herself backward and having me flip her or it could come from a recent love of being spun around during "airplane" trips.  Overall, she is incredibly active.  This high level activity leads to her being a very good sleeper.  Except for several days of being sick with a respiratory virus, she has been regularly falling asleep by 8 pm and sleeping well until 3 am most nights. 

Tonight is the first time she has fallen asleep in her crib without anything but us humming to her, while stroking her belly, for a few minutes.  This was a fantastic leap as she normally doesn't go to sleep until she has her "nigh-night nurse," after which she sleeps in our bed until about 10 pm; at which time we transfer her to her crib.

This weekend we will mash a banana and mix it with enough breastmilk to nearly liquify the fruit.  This will be Arwen's first "solid" food.  I don't know how she'll take to it, but we are really only giving it to her to introduce a new flavor and let her play with the concept of eating something other than mommy milk.  I am excited for this milestone, and for her to learn to eat, but will also miss the last time she suckles my breast.  Breastfeeding has been the hardest, yet most satisfying, thing I've ever done.  It has been exhausting and has - at a minimum - demanded constant awareness of the time, how I schedule work meetings, when I go to lunch, that I DO go to lunch.  With all of that, and the two episodes of flu-like sickness from breast fever, I would never exchange the experience for anything.  The closeness I feel to Arwen grows with each feeding.  I love how she will look up at me mid-meal, often smiling so big that she releases her latch on my breast.  This time cannot be replicated.  I am so grateful that I've been able to, and continue to, be her source of nourishment.

Below is the menu I've decided on for Thanksgiving.  I will be cooking most everything, but have relinquished power over a few dishes.  I'm going to try to get all prep work done by tomorrow afternoon.  On Thursday, I've arranged to stay home alone while everyone else goes to the Turkey Trot race downtown.  With the house empty and baby being watched by E's mom, I should be able to get everything cooked off.

parmesan crisps
roasted red pepper with cheese & capers

+++

not yo' mama's green bean casserole
smashing taters
roasted yams - lucia
savory cornbread dressing
cauliflower au gratin - elise
spinach salad - lucia
mole turkey

+++

chocolate "tamales"
bread pudding - elise
pumpkin/apple pie - victoria (aka l'il sis)

Egg nog - erich!

As I sat at work, pumping breast milk for the second time today, I wondered just how much milk will be sucked from my body in the six months Arwen will breastfeed (length subject to change based on tooth development and other parameters).  I did the math and the figures are quite astounding.

Using an approximate amount of 4 ounces per feeding (she is at nearly 5 ounces now so my figures are low), multiplied by 7 feedings a day (6, 9, 12, 3, 6, 9 and 2 half hearted feedings between midnight and 4 am) multiplied by 24 weeks equals just over 4,700 ounces.  What is that look like you ask?  Two full size kegs and a pony keg. Makes sense.  When she is done with it, the child falls off my boob like a wee drunkard.

At 3 a.m. this morning Arwen woke to eat.  She was a bit half hearted about the event and fell asleep in my arms.  She was still asleep at 4 a.m.  I only know this because I woke to a combination of guttural snorts and sharp moans, sounds similar to what I imagine would emanate from a pig stuck in a trap.  Through the haze of sleep, I stroked her head and tried to soothe her.  This lasted maybe ten seconds.  Suddenly, her noises turned to a cacophony of gagging gurgling madness.  In the blink of an eye, I was wide awake, had lifted her up, and spun her around so she was sitting up, facing forward, leaned over my left hand so I could smack her back with my right hand.  Midway through the blink a strand of phlegm threaded itself from her mouth, across my arm, and back to the foot of her fuzzy nightclothes.  Through all of this, she continued to imitate a trapped pig.

"Erich! WAKE UP!  I need bulb thingie."
He sits up.
"Huh? What? Okay."
He lies back down.
"ERICH. NOW. THE BULB THINGIE!"

He blearily took stock of the situation and; as more phlegm rocketed from Arwen's mouth; the cat flew from the bed to a safer place at the bottom of my closet, he stumbled out of bed and got the "bulb thingie."  I must say, I was impressed that he translated "please get me the nasal aspirator, so I can clear out the baby's sinuses, so that she doesn't suffocate" from "THE BULB THINGIE!" 

As it turns out, when the "bulb thingie" came near her face she FREAKED. THE. FUCK. OUT.  Through the power of sheer rage she cleared out her own nasal passages.  All over the bed.  Then she smacked her lips a couple times.  Smiled. And fell back asleep. 

Once we were all awake and preparing for the day, I mentioned that we need to be sure to wash the duvet cover tonight.
Erich asked, "Why?"
"Arwen puked phlegm all over it."
"When?"
"This morning!"
[Insert five second pause]
"Oh yeah.  I was a little out of it."