Asher is a chunk!

I have watched him plump up over the last 6-7 weeks. He now has great, magnificent cheeks. You might even call them jowls. Last week, at a doctor’s appointment, he weighed in at a whopping 15 pounds 4 ounces. That’s nearly double his birth weight in just 9 weeks!

Plea to the universe full of poeple who generously buy us baby clothes because baby clothes are so adorable and irresistable: PLEASE, NO MORE NEWBORN / 0-3 MONTH CLOTHES! These are almost always cut for babies weighing 12 pounds or less.

Last night I went through Asher’s clothes and pulled out dozens of outfits, many of which he only wore a few times. Some were never worn at all. They’re all totally cute and totally too small.

My grandmother was released from the nursing home last Friday.

We are all greatly relieved. Family members of my parents’ generation have been staying with Ro and Nana around the clock. (I think they were staying in the house with Nana during the nights while RoRo was in the hospital and then the nursing home recuperating. Nana’s got Alzheimer’s and they were afraid she might hurt herself or do something weird while RoRo was gone.)

I’ve been on the Cheer-Up Committee. (Kinda hard to commit to caring for RoRo when I have two small children that need constant attention.) I bring Asher and sometimes Lucas, too, to visit RoRo. I call it Baby Therapy. She holds Asher and enjoys it very much. Asher’s less keen on the scenario, but he tolerates it pretty well. RoRo was the envy of the nursing home because she had a baby to snuggle sometimes.

She has these baby-holding habits that she’s been practicing for well, probably 60+ years. She licks her thumb and forefinger and then tries to make the baby’s hair curl by wetting it and curling it around her finger. She also says “No, no, no, no, no” everytime the baby she’s holding starts to fuss, as if she’s taking it personally. When it’s time for Asher to nurse and I need to take him from her, she complains bitterly. She’d prefer it, I think, if I would hand her a bottle so she could feed him. If the baby cries when someone else is holding him, she asks “Are you pinching him?” Never fails. I guess when you’re 87 years old, your habits are pretty damned ingrained. But she loves them–every one of them.

Anyway, RoRo is doing much better now. As far as I can tell, she’s done saying wacky delusional things. I should ask my aunt Julie about that; she’s been on duty more than anyone since RoRo fell. She is back in her old chair in front of the TV. She’s eating more now than she did in the nursing home, where she complained about every single morsel they set before her. Her hip is healing well; the physical therapy has been very good for her. It may be that she’s stronger and more fit now post-surgery than she was before the broken hip. The family has removed all the area rugs in the house, at the nurses’ direction, because Ro tends to drag her foot and could trip again. Falling seems to be her specialty, but this last time was the worst of all the spills she’s taken over the years.

Easter was held at Ro and Nana’s house as usual. They were both radiant in pink pants suits (which was unusual for Nana because she has shunned that color her whole life). The family just proceeded to create the same exact Easter celebration that RoRo would have orchestrated, right down to the 12 dozen colored eggs for three children under 10 to find. Every single one of us got a bag full of candy, as usual.

The kids all got presents. Lucas enjoyed his present from RoRo this year much more than any stuffed bunny of years past: Tami, shoping on Ro’s behalf, bought him a dinosaur discovery kit that came with a block of chalk, chisel, hammer, and brush. Embedded in the block were six plastic dinosaurs to unearth. There’s also a dino activity book that he uses diligently when doing his “science homework.” Lucas also got several outfits.

Asher got a stuffed duck and some baby blue clothes. He didn’t seem too interested in any of the festivities, but he sure let me know when he’d reached his limit and needed help getting to sleep.

Last weekend, on Saturday, Lucas and I went on a date. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, we left Asher with Daddy and headed out to have some fun by ourselves. We started off with a trip to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. Lucas has been there exactly three times in his life. I think I earned big points by letting him eat junk food like doughnuts. My favorite thing about that place is the machine that makes, rises, fries, and frosts the doughnuts: I actually think the doughnuts are gross. Anyway, he chose the doughnut shaped and decorated like an Easter egg. The allure of sprinkles is apparently irresistable to a 4-year-old.

We bought a new pirate jigsaw puzzle at Once Upon A Child, which is across the parking lot from the doughnut shop. I took the opportunity to grab a couple of 5T clothing items for him.

Then we headed over to Sunrise Mall. He played in the indoor play area (weird Alice-In-Wonderland inspired climbing structures, tunnels, slides, etc.) After a while we went to the Hallmark store and got a free balloon.

The Easter bunny was there at the mall, and kids were getting their photos taken with him. At first Lucas wasn’t interested. Then he changed his mind and said he wanted to sit with the bunny for a picture. I wasn’t too keen on paying $20 for a bunny portrait, but then Lucas suggested that we both sit with the bunny for the picture. I relented, reasoning that this was our date and if we got the picture, we’d have a nice memento. OK. We got in line. Exactly 60 seconds later, Lucas is cowering in tears behind me. He changed his mind again and decided he didn’t want to go anywhere near that bunny.

“OK, OK! This was your idea. I thought you wanted to take the picture. We don’t have to do it. I’m not going to make you sit with a giant, stranger bunny! Let’s go!” I tried to reassure him.

Unfortunately, our sugar indulgence bit us on the behind. The crash was upon us. As we left the mall, Lucas begged me in sequence for a smoothie, a pretzel, ice cream. Oh, and there is a food court at Sunrise Mall now. We listened to the guitarist playing in honor of its grand opening.

I’m striving to pay more attention to Lucas. It’s hard to do because Asher is so demanding, unpredictable, and unable to wait for his needs to be met later. Lucas is more accomodating, more patient, more independent and that often means he gets the short end of the stick.

Tonight Lucas and I had a lovely time doing all the bedtime rituals together. Instead of battling, we played. He set up a coffee shop in the bathtub and I enjoyed cup after cup of gourmet coffee. He roasted and ground the beans himself, sweetened my coffee just right, and sold me a pound of beans. We made it through brushing teeth, jammies, and stories with no arguments, no tantrums, no injuries, and no shouting. We read stories together. It was great. It segued beautifully into cuddle time–which I’m proud to say I participate in every night (with the exception of the hospital stay and a few days when I was really sick). I sing the same songs every time. That’s the way he wants it.

Ian has next week off work and I’m planning on taking Lucas on a couple of Mommy and Lucas dates. We used to have these all the time. I hope some special one-on-one time will help him and be good for us both.

Poor Asher is having a hell of an evening! He’s been screaming his lungs out since about 5 p.m. This breaks my heart and hurts my eardrums and makes me desperate. The “colic” scream has a special make-your-ears-bleed shrieking quality to it. It’s hard when nothing in my repertoire helps him (nursing, singing, holding, diaper changes, carrying him in the sling, burping him, talking, dark rooms, walking outside, etc.).

Ian’s got him now and it sounds like Asher may have finally exhausted himself into oblivion.

Lucas told his first-ever on-purpose lie this morning. He told me when I got up that Daddy had already fed him his tofu and that he was ready for his cereal. (We have a rule about eating protein first, then cereal or other carb item–otherwise he won’t eat his protein because he fills up on cereal.) Daddy had already gone to work and I was fuzzy-headed from multiple night Asher feedings. I gave Lucas cereal before I noticed certain clues pointing to the fib: Daddy hadn’t made coffee, there was no tofu-with-soy-sauce dish in the sink, the tofu in the fridge looked to be the same size as yesterday when I put it there. Ah-ha! No breakfast was made or consumed before I woke up.

Lucas maintained his lie when I asked him about it. Then I called Daddy on the phone. Lucas erupted in tears while I talked to Ian. We parents are united and collaborative.

A peaceful time out and tofu eating followed. No animals or small children were harmed in the learning of this lesson.

He is getting so chunky! Not only does he have rolls now, his rolls have rolls.
His eyes are still dark blue.
He had two dimples in his smile, but they’ve disappeared in his magnificently round cheeks.
His toes are constantly flexing and opening, as if he’d like to grab onto things with them.
His hair is a light, reddish brown. It might fall out before too long–Lucas’s hair all around the sides and back of his head fell out until he had a mohawk.
He spits up fairly often. I think he eats until he pops.
Gas makes him really mad and uncomfortable, but he’s getting better about burping.
His chin is ticklish and he frequently smiles if you touch him there.
He likes to look at lights, windows, and the framed pictures on the wall.
He and I are now having little “conversations” in which I speak softly to him and he gazes into my eyes and replies with a variety of little sounds.
He has impossibly long fingers.
Somehow, every two days he accumulates a fistful of black lint that gets stuck between his fingers and in the creases of his hands despite regular bathing. I have no idea where this black lint is coming from. Everything he touches is white, yellow, light green or baby blue.
His first nap starts at 8:30 a.m. He naps off and on all day; usually he’s awake no more than an hour at a stretch.

This post is about my breasts. Sort of.

They’re working great! I’m so very, very happy to be breastfeeding Asher. For a while there, when I was so sick just days after Asher’s birth, my milk either dried up or failed to come in. On top of being extremely ill, this was emotionally devastating for me. It seems my body couldn’t fight the infection and make milk at the same time. And I was separated from my newborn for six days. Without the pumping I did every three hours around the clock while I was in the hospital and for several weeks, my plans to breastfeed Asher would have failed completely. I remember many pumping sessions where nothing emerged. It was painful, weird, and disappointing. Then eventually I got a few drops. Then a few milliliters: 5, 12, 17, 20! I pumped and dumped the milk down the drain for three weeks (too many drugs in my system to give the milk to Asher).

Nursing Lucas was one of the greatest pleasures about becoming a mother. After a few weeks of learning how to do it, we enjoyed a beautiful two-year nursing relationship. It was comforting and relaxing for both of us, a perfect bonding opportunity. Lucas still goes to sleep each night with his little hand down my shirt (nipple tweaking is not allowed). He rests his palm on my breast and relaxes into slumber.

So when I didn’t have any milk and was freaking out with anxiety, fear, loneliness, grief, and pain, I imagined never being able to nurse Asher. I imagined that without nursing, we’d have trouble bonding, that we’d always have problems communicating and trusting each other. I imagined a 4-year-old Asher asking me why his brother got two years of mama milk and he got none. I was really out-of-my-gourd crazy during that time.

The fact that I now CAN nurse this baby makes me so happy. None of my doomsday thoughts came to pass. With tremendous gratitude in my heart, I decided that the perfect way to give thanks would be to donate extra milk to the local milk bank, which is at The Birth Center where my kids were (supposed to be) born. The milk goes to feed premature and critically ill infants. Human breastmilk (obviously) is a far superior food for human babies. Incidentally, my mother gives blood consistently. She has given 50 gallons of blood in her life so far. I admire her for it very much, and I thought, Cool! I can give milk!

I applied to be a milk donor, and everything was going great until someone read on my questionnaire that I lived in Europe for 9 months in 1993-94. I am automatically disqualified from donating my milk because I have been exposed to Mad Cow disease! It’s weird and kinda funny. But it’s also deeply disappointing. It’s surprisingly disappointing.

Oh, and I’m now wearing a D cup.

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