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*logorrhoea n pathologically excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness, prolixity [Gr logos word + roia flow, stream]
blogorrhoea n online manifestation of the above
the sound of one hand typing
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Apparently the correct spelling is 'bumf', an abbreviation of 'bum fodder', viz. toilet paper. (Trust Maire to know this, and thanks for the etymological heads-up!)
More importantly, Maggie just smiled at me. She's been giving her gran big tentative wide-mouthed grins for a few days now, but this one, for the first time, was just for me.
There are new Maggie and Gran pics up on flickr, btw. And now she's howling again...
five weeks
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
First home visit from the Plunket nurse today, who's taken over from the midwife. She handed me a ton of bumph (sp?), exclaimed over the great beauty of both my girls, and then seriously pissed Maggie off by weighing and measuring her, which required her to be stripped off, which she hates. Cheered me up though: at five weeks old, she weighs 4.62 kg, having put on an entire kilo since birth. Clearly she is getting some good quality boobie.
She essayed another tentative, wide-mouthed smile at her gran yesterday. However, she has yet to smile at me, the person who gave her life, and the source, what's more, of the good quality boobie on which she continues to thrive. Humph.
Still, I can console myself with the fact that this afternoon we, my mother and I, that is, have achieved the Holy Grail of parenting: both of them are having naps at the same time. I've even been for a short walk. Am going to creep off now and make the most of it before the spell breaks.
notes from the twilight zone
Friday, June 22, 2007
Maggie's a month old today. She celebrated first thing this morning with her first ever genuine, if tentative, smile. She chose to bestow it on her big sister, who was cooing over her bassinet at the time. Priceless.
As of last weigh-in, a couple of days ago, she is 4.5kg, a mighty 900g more than her birth weight. This is no doubt due to her abiding affection for the boobie: she feeds like a pro, and keeps it down, what's more, unlike *certain* elder siblings we could mention who would cheerfully and without any apparent signs of distress puke up (sorry, 'spill') every single feed; all the more frustrating as I was finding breastfeeding so bloody painful. But not this time: this time I can even feed her in bed at night (she generally only wakes once) while lying on my side, often managing to stay quasi-asleep during the entire process, provided I can thrust her at her equally semi-conscious father to be winded between Side A and Side B.
My incision's healing well after a week-long course of antibiotics that seems to have knocked the mank-factor on the head. So am feeling mighty fine, all things considered, although am still having trouble marshalling my thoughts into anything coherent. Am making an effort to keep my brain nourished by reading L'Express one-handed while breastfeeding Maggie (may have to develop my cunning design for a bra-mounted lectern at some point). And the other day I played some klezmer at her while she lay in her bassinet, gazing up at me with calm, dark blue eyes. Mind you. given that I was pregnant during every single gig I have so far played with the Rebs, she must be well used to it by now.
Many congratulations and much love to Lisa, Paul and Jack on the safe arrival, via home waterbirth, what's more, (hippies!) of the lovely Mia Yoshiko. Well done all.
it was all going so well...
Friday, June 15, 2007
My incision (which my midwife keeps referring to as my 'wound', which strikes me as rather melodramatic) has got itself infected. This is both revolting and bloody painful, but since this is not generally a shary sort of blog, I will spare you the details (in any case, and as denial is, in my opinion, a perfectly valid therapeutic strategy, I am avoiding looking at it or touching it myself).
The upshot of this is that sitting for long periods of time is quite uncomfortable, so posting, until the antibugs start to kick in, will be brief, sporadic and grumpy. Meanwhile, am spending as much time as poss flat on my back, reading Margaret Laurence (my favourite gloomy Anglo Canadian writer) between (or sometimes during) feeds while out in the real world beyond the bedroom door my mother heroically cleans, launders, and Becca-wrangles.
Maggie is as imperturbable as ever, and is hard at work extending her repertoire of facial expressions, which so far comprises: Puzzled, Baleful, Extremely Puzzled, Where's The Boobie? and Piratical Where's The Boobie?, which is more snarly.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
She's three weeks old today. Here's my favourite photo of her so far. She cluster-feeds throughout the day, but is capable of sleeping for up to five-hour stretches, sometimes even at night, and even through her sister's noisy midnight incursions into our bedroom with various imaginary monsters in pursuit. The Holy Grail of parenting, They tell me, is getting more than one kid to sleep in sync, and my word They are right.
Meanwhile it's three weeks out for me, too. My stomach is resolving into a strange, rectangular shape, although when clothed I look almost back to normal, and in any case my receding bump is easily eclipsed by the Hindenburg-like proportions of the inflated mammaries, which precede me into any room by several seconds. My scar pulls and puckers much more than I remember last time, and curls up at one end, like a sneer. The surgeon, who came by the day after Maggie was born, seemed slightly narked that he hadn't been able to make a more perfect cosmetic job of it. So that's my career as a glamour model buggered then. Wonder if I can sue.
two weeks
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
First things first: there are a few more Maggie photos on flickr.
Maggie's two weeks old today (Rebecca, by this stage, was still inside me with another 3-5 days left to serve). Reports of her settling quickly to sleep after night feeds may have been premature. But then again maybe not: she did, eventually, settle, after her 3 AM feed, it's just that it took two and a half hours' worth of feeding before she was convinced she was full enough to settle down for the hour's remaining interval before Becca landed on our heads demanding stories and breakfast. The two-week growth spurt is to blame, apparently.
Meanwhile, her elder sister has embarked on a dedicated campaign of incontinence and tantrums consistent with child-rearing pundits' recommendations concerning how to mark the introduction of a new sibling into the household: clearly she's read the literature too. A trip with her grandmothers to visit whanau in the Wairarapa for the long weekend gave us a much-needed break and some quiet time with Maggie à trois. Tellingly, Becca, before allowing herself to be driven away, made sure to confirm that her baby sister would be waiting for her when she got back; possibly she thought that in her absence we'd return Maggie to the hospital, rather like we take back library books or DVDs she's grown fond of. Despite the textbook regressive behaviour she hasn't shown the slightest hint of animosity towards Maggie, whose greatest danger from her is being squashed to jelly during her frequent and vigorous displays of affection.