We are home now after six days in the hospital. Three for induction, one for c-section, two for recovery. As much as Aimee loved having a choice between red and green Jell-o, it is so nice to at least be exhausted at home, instead of exhausted at the hospital. I have offered to poke and prod Aimee every twenty minutes to help with the transition, but she answered that waking up every three hours to breastfeed while dealing with the pain of the surgery while trying to think clearly through the Oxycontin while listening to Kenny G on hold at the pediatric clinic was torture enough.
Over the first three days she’s been in this world, Maisie has learned a number of things:
- That her parents tend to sleep at night, which is why she saves her loudest crying for between the hours of 1:00 and 5:00 A.M.
- That the best time to let out a wail or a scream is within five minutes after her parents have nodded off.
- That she can basically get away with a) and b) by just lying around and looking angelic.
As of last night, Maisie and I have a new tradition. Watching Californication on Showtime at 2 A.M. She didn’t really get much out of it but there were some swear words and nudity for my entertainment. However I had to strike a deal in the process. She’s going to let me watch R-rated cable entertainment this one time, and in return I have to watch the Disney Channel for the next ten to twelve years.
Tomorrow is Maisie’s One Week Birthday. Here is a summary of her first week:
- Saturday—crapped pants, breastfed, cried, crapped pants again, slept, peed, cried, slept.
- Sunday—cried, peed, slept, breastfed, cried, peed, crapped pants, slept, breastfed.
- Monday—cried, crapped pants, peed, slept, cried, slept, cried, slept, breastfed, got tired of breastfed, cried, cried more.
- Tuesday—slept, cried, crapped pants, cried, got tired of breastfeeding again, went to doctor, cried more, slept, given formula, waved arms in air, slept.
- Wednesday–cried, cried loudly, peed, crapped, crapped and peed simultaneously, worked way out of swaddling, peed on swaddling, peed on clothes, cried.
- Thursday—Slept, cried, crapped, peed, had operation on tongue, cried, looked spitefully at parents, cried, cried, cried and cried.
THE SUPPOSITORY EPISODE
- BEFORE: The past few days Maisie has had some bowel movement problems (in that she hasn’t had one), which now requires the use of a suppository. Needless to say valuables have been stored in a safe place and the room has been covered in plastic.
- AFTER: Saying the suppository worked would be an understatement. What came out was a shade of green only seen in dense colonies of radioactive seaweed and in volumes that had been until recently deemed physically impossible.
It’s fun messing with people. Working out at my club today someone came up to me to congratulate me on having a baby.
“And are you getting any sleep?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, actually it hasn’t been that bad,” I answered.
“And how about Aimee, how’s she doing?”
“She’s here working out, you should go find her.”
“Really. Where’s the baby?” you could see her mind racing.
“Oh she’s just at home hanging out. You know once they reach four days they can basically take care of themselves.”
My friend Dan Branley was over today. He has three boys. They’re all very good kids but the youngest one seems to have a penchant for getting himself into trouble and collecting time-outs. As was the case the evening before when Dan came home to find Caden in yet one more penalty box situation…this time for saying “Fudge You” to his mother. Of course Caden felt he was wrongly accused and demonstrated this by standing up on the couch in defiance. His mom, in turn, let Caden know that in no uncertain terms he was still in a time-out and to sit down, which prompted Caden to let his mother know that he was just “airing out his balls.”
Maisie cannot date Caden.
A NOTE ON DIAPER CHANGING. Easy and simple when you’re changing a doll in baby class. A little more complicated when the doll is crying and waving arms and legs like an epileptic turtle on its back sending ‘Poo” in all directions and screaming like someone just attached a joy buzzer to her butt. But you soon figure it out–you learn to take the dirty diaper and wipe what’s left of any residue, use nice cold wipes to tidy up, then prepare for all out screaming bloody murder because newborns hate anything cold against that there area down there. After clean up, you pull out a clean diaper and stare at the baby in disbelief as more “poo” comes out and covers the bedding where you shouldn’t be changing the diaper in the first place.
THE NEW AND IMPROVED PAMPERS WARNING SYSTEM
On each diaper there is a line, the color of the line tells you the following:
- BLUE LINE–Clear
- YELLOW LINE–Urine/Pee
- BROWN LINE–Gas Mask.
ON FARTING AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS.
Oh my God. My daughter has completely mastered the art of farting. In fact, Maisie is sitting with me as I type this on the Mac, and apparently knowing the significance of poetic timing, ripped one just ten seconds ago. This is no small couple-weeks-old girl cute baby fart that mothers just laugh about, this is a full on rip-the-pants, peel-the-paint Guinness-world-record gasser. Which brings up the question how can something that weighs about 8 + ounces and wears cute outfits with flowers on the front and butterflies on the back fire off bombs that could decimate the armies of small countries or scatter campsites. Now she’s crying like a banshee. Apparently she hasn’t put two and two together quite yet, that those little butt-gifts of love are what causes the major cry-inducing stinky. Hopefully she does learn that before she starts dating.
THE MANY MOODS OF MAISIE
Last night, I decided to start Maisie’s education early by reading the Declaration of Independence to her until she fell asleep. The only downside to this idea is that I was the one that fell asleep and Maisie stayed awake all night looking at her feet.
Here is further proof that having a daughter has not interfered with the enjoyment I get out of messing with people. Stopping at Safeway to pick up some salad dressing or bibs or something, I engaged in the following conversation with the person in front whose job apparently was to stand around and bother people with babies.
“Aw, what a cute baby. Hello there darling, that’s right hello there darling, goo goo ga ga, you sure a cutie, yes you are, you sure are a cutie…”
After about five minutes of baby talk, the woman finally turned to me…
“Is she a girl?”
“Not sure, we’ll see how she does with a football then we’ll decide.”
There’s been a bit of a problem the past week that I didn’t really want to mention in hopes that it would just go away. Maisie had not been gaining any weight since coming home from the hospital. The doc was mildly concerned at first and wanted her to come in every couple days to get weighed. She did gain a bit the first weigh-in (thanks to feeding her about every fifteen minutes), but on the second and third she continued to lose weight. There was no panic, but there was a sudden understanding that not only the world revolves around your child but also the universe. We tried everything to get her to eat. Stripping her down, keeping the bottle in her mouth for hours, trying to fool her by keeping her mouth open with toothpicks. After all that, we went with the only option left for immediate infant weight gain, we took her to the Old Country Buffet. After discovering that there was no food station with breastmilk or formula and that she couldn’t lift a chicken thigh, we then shifted our attention to the nipples.
Apparently our daughter likes the cheap nipples, not the fancy upscale ones we bought at Babies R Us. So we picked up a full supply of old Playtex bottles and nipples and now Maisie is a full-on milk-sucking Beast (her latest pet name) and officially off the Doc’s “Worry List.”
And all is right in the world and universe that revolves around her
Here, watching my daughter dream, lightly breathing in and out, kicking legs up every now and then in defiance of her swaddling, latching on to imaginary boobs almost makes me forget what a horrendously bad week this was.
Earlier I explained to Maisie that our biggest client at the agency had fired us, she responded by crying. But I could tell by her crying “cues” that his was the usual cry for a bottle not a cry for the heads of the sons of bitches that fired us without even the courtesy of a phone call but rather doing it with a letter from their bottom feeding bastard-lawyers. That aside, I have learned over the past few weeks how to identify her crying cues.
- Short stacatto cries and open mouth gaping for air—needs pacifier
- Long bird like shrill cries accompanied by chicken-like head bobs—needs bottle.
- Immediate cry with no build up then general fussiness—diaper needs changing.
- Long loud cries with no let up—wants head of the sons of bitches that fired us without even the courtesy of a phone call instead doing it with a letter from their bottom feeding bastard-lawyers.
Here’s an easy shortcut I learned that will help you to swaddle your baby correctly:
- Take blanket, place in diamond formation. Fold down just past where the head is.
- Take the left hand edge of the blanket and pull across baby so as to pin the left arm against the body and bring all the way over baby and tuck in underneath.
- Take bottom end of blanket and pull up near baby’s head and inset into other part of blanket like a toga. Take the other part that’s not inserted and drag ¼ inch to the left and make an alpine butterfly knot.
- Now pull the remaining edge of the right hand of the blanket partly across the front of the baby, place thumb in middle of section roughly 3 1/5 inch from the baby’s head and turn 97 degrees to the left. Then go up and under in a clockwise motion encircling the baby’s torso yet keeping section 2.3 away from the baby’s mouth and nose. With the last 7 feet, use the Pythagorean Maneuver over the left side of the rib cage and tape rest of blanket to back of skull.
I’m trying to refrain from saying anything sarcastic about Aimee’s Breast-pumping Apparatus but it’s almost impossible not to look at it and be reminded of Madonna’s Vogue tour of 2005.
Is it scientifically possible for a baby to crap six times in two hours?
Yes, in fact, researchers have found that babies can crap for hours on end, especially between two and five in the morning when the father is on baby duty.
But something of interest—her poop is starting to smell of microwave popcorn.
Something more of interest—trying to control a steady stream of crap out of a baby’s butt with the tools available is like trying to control an oil slick with a handywipe.
Something even more of interest—Maisie is only three weeks old and the house is already a mess.