Who wore it better?!?!

Our lucky girl has not suffered an insult to the eye, as our boy had, but merely suffers an insult to vanity as we try to strengthen her eyes with daily eye patching. Fortunately, we procured only the cutest in eye patchery for her.

Head size is directly correlational to intelligence! I insist.

Anyone wondering how our four month old is coming along? Dr. B checked her and found the following: She's meeting her milestones, she is in the 75% for height and weight, and has a ginormous head. That's not really a surprise. I pulled out the measuring tape to see if she is reflecting her parents genetics, and indeed she is. I always knew my noggin topped the charts, but turns out so does Jesse's. Here's to Big Headed Folks all over the country! You know you are. I won't name names, but certain folks (Julie) have a free membership in our club. You are welcome to borrow hats, helmets and headbands anytime!

A few laughs with my mom, and my own head history was re-lived. At birth, my head was so big my face got crushed on the way out of the birth canal, and for weeks, my best feature was my ears. When I was 8, my friend Serena's crappy dad called me "Big Head". Jerk. (He also introduced me to Elvira and her vampire show, which rendered me completely paralyzed from fear every time I went outside to feed the dog after dark.) A few years later, my friend Jarod called me Gazoo, after the big headed alien on Flintstones. At a wedding last fall, I ran into a high school friend's parents, and all they could remember to call me was "Nugget," because that's what they dubbed me (and my head) 15 years ago.

Then there is the family history... my mom's hats came from the women's department... when she was 5. When my aunt was born, the first thing the Dr. said to my grandfather was NOT "It's a girl!", but "God damn BIG HEADS!" (Wonder what my grandmother was saying... ) My grandfather's hats were specially made for him. A quick glance through photos of generations beyond that reveal a constant: Big heads. I suspect it's a dominant trait.

So here's where I stand on the issue: The teasing sucked. It really did. But in the grand scheme of things, it was tolerable and a big head really isn't that bad. Besides, better to have MORE space for brains than less, I say. Beyond that, teasing only builds your defense mechanisms, rendering me immune to head jokes at this point in my life. Recall Steve Martin in Roxanne? That's me. There's no head joke I haven't heard, and couldn't top. And, like Steve Martin, I ended up with the hot love interest. (Have you seen my husband?! Soooo much hotter than Darryl Hannah.)

But I hereby let it be known that if anyone makes fun of my darling Vivian's head, whether you are 5 or 50, you will receive a tongue lashing that only someone with a brain as big as mine is capable of. No exceptions.

Night Stalker

We are nearly 6 weeks out, and Vivian is still sleeping a ton. Except at night. But even that is better. Last night she and I spent an hour on the porch, listening to the oak leaves falling on the street. A special moment by two measures -- rarely can we hear that sound of spring over the sound of the street, and few other places in the country mark spring with the falling of leaves. Knowing that makes it a little easier to be up with a crying baby at 4 a.m. That, and a pair of fine pink earplugs. (Her late night cries can only be described as the sound that a reeling pony would make. Really -- I get a visual every time. I think she will be a fine horsewoman. And just to preemptively set the record straight, I do respond to her cries, even if I do find it necessary to protect my ears a tad.)

All this sleeping has led to speedy growth and very few photos of her with her eyes open. She graduated to nearly all 3-6 month sizes about 2 weeks ago. I will try to dig out a few photos to demonstrate each of these results:

Brutal Honesty

This is not a photo of Vivian; but it could be. Over the last week, I have noticed that she has been losing hair on the top of her head. Enough so that it's visible on a white towel when I rub her head dry. Enough so that she now resembles Danny Devito. UPDATE: Here is a flattering photo of Vivian's female pattern baldness:


Of course we have been speculating about her hair and eye color when she starts blooming. (I like to think newborns are like buds in spring -- all tightly curled up, you won't know for weeks what colors they will finally display when in full bloom.) Will she have still have black hair and blue eyes? Perhaps take after her mother and trade in her newborn locks for blonde with brown eyes? Hard to say.

Any guesses?

The only thing we know for sure is that she inherited her dad's rosy pale complexion. Looks like Zach and Mommy will have to take trips to the beach without them.

Welcome to Geyser Corner!

10:46

Vivian had just finished a morning snack and a healthy nap. Seemed like a good time to go drop off the paperwork at the Montessori for Zach. Just a quick diaper change and we are off...

First thing she does when I lay her down? Puke. Wipe up before it drains into her shirt and we are cool to continue. I strip off her pants and diaper to give her a good wipe down. The cool air on her bum surprises her and she pees all over the changing pad and her pants. No biggie - I just pull the waterproof mats out from under her and there is still a clean dry cover beneath her. As I reach for a diaper, she lets a monster poop out on the cover. Awesome. Wipe that, scoot her to the side and strap another diaper on her. She poops in that one too. Now we are on poop no. 3 in the last 10 minutes. Nothing a seasoned mother hasn't seen before though, right? Back to the diaper changing...


I can now go for a fresh pair of pants. Closer inspection reveals that the back of her shirt has also been soaked with urine. Ok -- a new shirt too. I pick up her now squalling self and carry her over to the dresser. She barfs all over my clean black tee shirt. And the floor. I clean up that mess. She is now in hysterics, and I still haven't even got her clothes on yet, an event sure to cause additional infant outrage. So I pick her up to comfort her and... she barfs on me again. Lay her down, wipe myself down, dress her up, change shirts and... where are we? Oh yes, still squalling infant at hand.

Bounce her around a bit on my shoulder. This time, I cover myself with an entire blanket. She barfs on that, too. Right through it, actually. The swing and bouncer REALLY piss her off. It's quickly becoming apparent that only more nursing will comfort her. (This is a No Pacifier girl. Hates 'em.) Seems like a bad idea, doesn't it? Cause more milk only means more to barf. But, allowing her to cry more and louder seems less tolerable so I let her nurse again. Seeing as she wasn't hungry, she nurses just long enough to settle, then spits the mouthful of milk right down into my bra. Lay her on my lap to clean my bra and she dribbles a bit more on my jeans. Still screaming. Try the swing... still screaming. Certainly not going to jostle her any more... try swaddling her. Marginal results. Swaddle with a sideways lap jostling and high decibal "SHH"ing finally does the trick. (As an aside, though the "Happiest Baby on the Block" stuff seems to work, I am pretty sure that the suggested volume for "SHH"ing, i.e. really loud, is intended to provide an outlet for mother's frustration and anxiety. It works.) Finally silence envelopes us. Oh my gosh, silence at this point is better than a masage at 10,000 Waves. I stop moving. She cries. I am at the end of my rope. Put the baby, still swaddled, in her swing. FINALLY, I can put her down and dry out.

It's now 11:37.

So if anyone ever wonders why it takes so long to get anywhere with an infant, please remind them that it will require 3 diaper changes, 2 infant outfit changes, 2 mommy shirt changes, one mommy pants change, one bra change, 2 changing pad covers, two floor moppings and several sanity checks. And that's before we even get around to doing the laundry.

inflation

As you might know, pregnancy causes your waist to swell to abnormal proportions. Some people say that short women build highrise bellies, while tall women build ranch-style bellies. Curious where I fell in this spectrum, I have been measuring my waist during this pregnancy. (Actually, it just seemed like a more benign measure than weight gain.) It is now 13 inches wider than pre-pregnancy. Check me out:


(OK, it's not really me, but until our home reorganization project reaches completion, I can't download the real photos.)

Fortunately, it's not just my belly that is expanding at a rapid rate. For those of you who are interested in this gory detail, as of last week, I was already halfway to the ultimate goal of 10cm dilation. I hate to be a cheater, but in this arena I will take a head start where I can get one. Who doesn't like freebies?! We are hoping to see Vivian on, or before, this Saturday!

And, if she doesn't come on her own, I am finding a crowbar.

oh dear.

An ultrasound this morning disclosed that little Vivian is weighing in at an estimated SEVEN POUNDS ALREADY! With 4 weeks to go, it seems unfortunately likely that she will come close to my heavytitle of over nine pounds as a newborn.

Some birthing manuels suggest visualizing 'opening like a lotus flower'. I am thinking garage door.