Parental Rites of Passage

I have a feeling there are many, many parental rites of passage, but I experienced a few this week, including projectile vomit in the face. Also, an exploded diaper at the bus stop on a chilly, windy day when the baby is particularly reluctant to be stripped naked. Ah, and four hours in public of alternating soothing-the-baby and crying-as-soon-as-Mom-puts-me-back-in-the-car-seat-so-we-can-go-home.

Now. Regarding the disastrous diaper change. Ah, yes. I see many of you parents reminiscing... and perhaps flinching. That, or giggling, because it's funnier in retrospect, right?

So. I decided one innocent afternoon to change Amelia's diaper. It was, after all, poofed up like a sponge which has just absorbed tons of liquid. I put Amelia down on the changing pad. She makes a face. Why, Momma, why? Why must you put me down?

Now, I must tell you that so far I'd been feeling pretty smug because I haven't had any diaper disasters yet. I felt that I was super smart for getting out the new diaper, opening it up, and putting it underneath Amelia's bottom before removing the soiled diaper. This had already prevented many a mishap. WELL NOW. This time, I do this same thing. Clean diaper is out and READY for any surprise onslaughts of waste matter.

Upon opening the old diaper, I find, to my surprise, that it is full only of pee. No fecal matter in sight. Well, that's strange, I think. After all, she's been a fairly regular poop machine since she got out of the meconium stage. A nice beautiful bowel movement every few hours. In retrospect, I should have recognized the suspicious lack of poo in Amelia's diaper as a red flag, and I should have immediately refastened the diaper on her little bum and waited in a nuclear bunker until the aerial assault had ended.

Alas, I was not so wise. Dutifully, I wipe. And I go to pull out the old diaper from between Amelia's bum and the new diaper I'd placed. ... But when I pull out the old diaper, the new one comes with it. Oh, well that's no problem, I'll just put it right b---

The following scene plays in slow motion when I think back on it. I suddenly see a growing liquidy blob of something the color of Dijon mustard emerging from the baby's output end. It took me a few milliseconds to realize what this meant, and by then it was too late.

There was a squirt sound like the sort when you're trying to get ketchup out of the bottle onto a hamburger. And then liquidy blobs stream up into the air in a beautiful Newtonian arc of doom. Splat.

I was suddenly a disgusting piece of modern art... splatters of thick Dijon mustard "paint" dispersed all over my lap and my arms and my shirt.

In shock, I yell, "Yauugh! Yuck!" Then, pulling out a wipe, I burst into laughter, thinking it was over. I was wrong.

There was soon another beautiful arc flying through the air--this time it was a continuous stream of amber pee... and yes, it was following the laws of physics with grace. "Eeep!" I take the wipe in my hand and lop it on top of Amelia's down there nether regions. Although this saved my face, it just redirected the urine downward. And soon Amelia was wriggling in a large puddle of her own poo and pee. Oh, and that fresh diaper was now completely useless, having also been turned into a sopping wet piece of modern art.

After wiping off my urine-covered hand, I desperately rummage for a new diaper, and try to open it up, but alas, I was too slow and didn't get it out in time for an encore of fecal matter.

I reach for the wipes. I needed to get the baby out of the poop-pee puddle. I pull the wipe--and to my horror, it was the last wipe in the box. NOOOOOOOOO!!! "BECCA!" I scream. "Please get me those wipes!" Eep, eep, eep! "Baby, please, no more!" Amelia looks up at me with an adorable face... the epitome of innocence. Who, me? What did I do?

Getting to Know You...

It sometimes surprises me that Amelia is a little person, a little individual, a little personality--and already. It's becoming more and more apparent that she wants to know exactly what is going on. In fact, that was the very first thing I remember about her.

Right when she first came out, even before she really got out her first successful cries, she was trying to open her eyes. She cried and cried, and once her eyes were open, she shut up for a bit and looked around.

I said hello. (I think I called her a conehead.) She arched her back and craned to look up towards my voice. It was strange. There is a little tiny person deliberately looking at me... or at least trying to look at me. Who knows how much she could see with all the vernix in her still developing eyes.

Who are you? You sound like my mom. Where am I? What is going on? Also, I am hungry. Her cries were clear demands. And then after the demands, I started to hear frustration. Why can't I lift myself up, dang it? I'm trying to turn towards those voices, but I just can't seem to... Argh! Ugh, no one told me eating would be difficult, aughh!

I'm not sure what tipped off our nurses, but I remember more than one of them commenting that Amelia was particularly strong-willed and independent. She likes to be in control of her own fate, methinks.

Fast forward a few weeks.

Ah, tummy time. When we put her on her belly, she gets frustrated. Plainly, she is upset by how helpless she is tummy down. I can just see the enraged little thought bubble-clouds emerging from her ears... I... can't... lift... my... HEAD! AUGH! I... can't... SEE! I... can't... MOVE! This is accompanied by both distressed wailing and effortful grunting as she strains to move. She digs her feet into the ground and pushes... and actually, she does inch herself forward--or sideways.

We're not sure this determination is the safest quality to possess right now, though. Last night she nearly launched herself out of James' arms down onto the cold, hard floor... And then she did it again in the early a.m. hours as she resisted leaving the warm, cozy blanket on her way to a dreaded diaper change. We may need to superglue a helmet to her head to protect those precious Griffin-Dilts brains she inevitably inherited.

Another curiosity... I can tell her vision is improving. She loves to look at lights and things. She loves to look out windows and stare at light fixtures. Perhaps not coincidentally, at about the same time she began exhibiting interest in lights, she also began to get fussy after hanging about in the same spot for too long.

It's true! If we stay in the same spot and bounce or rock her, she gets furious and starts to scream. BUT as soon as we pick her up and walk around, she calms down. And, all too often, she starts screaming again once we sit back down. My theory? She likes to see the light-shadow landscape move around her as we walk. I think we may need to invest in a string of blinky Christmas lights.

Love and phascinating photons,
Jenna and Amelia the Photonophile

The Cry of the Pterodactyl

Amelia is still cute. And she is acting pretty much like a typical baby. And growing pretty quickly. Woohoo!

I am getting better at deciphering the meaning of her cries... but, to be honest, the only one I'm ever really sure that it means what I think it means sounds like this: "WAAAAHHHHHUUURRRRRR! UNGH! UNGH! YAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGG! UNNNNGH! YEEEEAAAAHHUUURRRRRAAAAAA!" It is usually accompanied by frantic squirming and kicking. And a telltale grimace, demonstrated by the anonymous small child below.

I know what this cry means because, well, I make these sounds sometimes. (And that face.) Those sounds mean "I need to poop! Really, really bad! And it hurts!"

I, however, only make those sounds when I'm actually constipated, but I was surprised to learn that Amelia makes these sounds before every bowel movement, despite a complete lack of constipation. I suppose I've forgotten a lot about the crash course I took (Life 100: Human Body Operations) immediately after birth, but apparently one of the first things every tiny human has to learn is how to use the gastrointestinal system. I assumed that having a bowel movement is one of those things that come effortlessly, but Amelia has reminded me that, to the contrary, it takes a lot of energy at first.

I have become quite familiar with this cry over the past few weeks. A few times each night, I wake up to hear her grunting, grunting, squirming, grunting...  but she doesn't quite wake up. She will carry on for 1-20 minutes, before finally, a poosplosion. A very loud one.* ... And another, and another, and another... She finally ends the finale with a sigh of contentment and a smile. Oh, and sometimes an encore.

Another cry I've come to understand is the hungry cry... either that, or the "Dang it, I just want to suck on something" cry. I haven't yet figured out how to distinguish between them solely based on the sound alone. I can usually figure out when she's actually hungry when she starts spitting out any offered fingers with an indignant outcry... If I could translate that indignant cry into English, it would go like this: "A finger!? What is this trash!? I demand MILK!"

So I obligingly pull out a sore bazoonga. And take a deep breath and timidly offer the dang thing to her. Aaaand then she ferociously zeroes in on said bazoonga and clamps down with vigor. Ayayay, that is often exquisitely painful. It's getting better, I think.

Of all the sounds our tiny Pterodactyl makes, the following is my favorite. She makes it most often when she's in REM sleep and it is sometimes even accompanied by a smile. It sounds like a laugh or a giggle... "Heheheheheh!" In fact, it sounds a little like the sort of giggle Elmer Fudd makes. The best is when she happens to "giggle" after James or I have said something funny... or mockable.

I love that pseudo-laugh. It almost compensates for all the less enjoyable noises she makes.

Love and dirty diapers,
Jenna and Amelia

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*Yesterday at church, this happened during a particularly quiet moment. It was... uh, cute. Heh. And James tells me he heard an at-home upstairs poosplosion from all the way downstairs. I think the door was closed, too. It occurs to me that perhaps all babies have loud bowel movements... and that I probably did as a baby as well. This may shed light on how I received the family nickname Jennifart... I've had it as long as I can remember. :)

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly... Nursing Tales from a Tired Momma

Little Amelia is slowly, but surely, putting on some chubs. She's still tiny, but I think she's getting chubby little cheeks which can reveal cute little dimples if she smiles. The kid is definitely getting enough noms.

Amelia is also becoming increasingly alert. She is awake for hours every day, with wide, wide eyes. I'm not sure how much information those eyes are sending to her brain, but it certainly looks like she's checking everything out carefully. It also seems like she is particularly interested in faces... and, when it comes to faces, she is particularly interested in eyes. So although I've heard it takes a while for a baby to start looking you in the eye, it certainly seems like Amelia is doing so already. The pediatrician thought so too.

Oh, and the smiles! Amelia is practicing to become a master smiler.* As is typical for a newborn, she smiles most when she's in REM sleep or when she's barely awake. She is, however, beginning to smile more frequently when she's wide awake... and the smiles last longer. Oh, and she smiles more often while eating and when I stroke her face. I'm so excited for when she starts smiling socially.

Now for the bad part... She's been pretty fussy for the last few days... It's like she's always awake. And all she wants to do is suck on something or nurse. Unfortunately, James is not lactating. Darn. I'm pretty durned tiredddd.

The ugly? My poor, poor ladies. While our troubles getting milk from the mom boob to the baby stomach are over, we haven't quite perfected the nursing-without-hurting-mum part. I think part of the problem is that I'm making tons and tons of milk. The lactation consultant said it's pretty normal to be hurting some if I have an abundant milk supply.

The even uglier? Because Amelia has been demanding to be nursed ALL the time for the last few days, my brain thinks I should make even MORE milk... (Nooo! No more prolactin! For Lucy's sake, stoooop!) Which means I am painfully uber full. And I leak very much lots. And sometimes spray. (Pew, pew! Milk lasers!) Ugh. Gross.**

So yeah. Them breasts are hurtin'. If it gets much worse I may start hallucinating a mouthful of shark teeth in little Amelia's mouth. She already attacks the nipples like a predator diving in to enjoy the first scrumptious bite of its prey. Her lunge for the nipple very clearly communicates the MINE and the GIMME DAT concept. I can't help but yell out (almost) every time the kid latches on.

When she gets bored or tired while eating, instead of gently letting go, she clamps down. Hard. (OW, OW, OW!***) So I desperately try to break the vacuum seal by sticking my finger in between her gums, but that's easier said than done. And then once my tenders are finally free (hallelujah!)... Well, Amelia wakes up, blinks around for a bit, and then cries for the nipple again. Ugh.

Wo is me! Anyway, more good news... The lactation consultants are ever full of helpful advice. PLUS they figure things'll get better pretty soon. ... Whenever pretty soon is. Heh.

Love and lactose,

Jenna and Amelia "Pterodactyl" Dilts :)

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*Now, I know some of you will tell me "It's just gas." Well, I have news for you. Researchers don't think it's gas. MYTH BUSTED. (Yes, we've been watching lots of Mythbusters lately.) Question: do you smile when you have gas? Uh huh. I thought so. Me neither. Instead of smiling, I curl up in the fetal position and moan and rock back and forth. Okay, so if it isn't gas, what is it? It's a neurological reflex. (Maybe it's just because I'm neuroscience junkie, but it seems so much more awesome and personable that the smile is neurological rather than gastrointestinal.) She may not be smiling at you, but she's definitely smiling for the express purpose of smiling--to practice and get really good at it... and, well, let's be honest, it's probably also a survival mechanism. Don't lie. You know your newborn's smile makes you melt inside and want to feed it and keep it safe. Instead of smother it when it screams for the kajillionth time in the night for no discernible reason that you can find. Fun fact: newborns will smile most when drowsy or during REM sleep.

**I still occasionally have moments where, after writing something, I think, "Seriously... Am I scarring for life some poor unsuspecting guys out there?" This was one of those moments. I'm sorry. And also not sorry. You boys should theoretically be getting married and having babies someday anyway. And then you'll get to witness some variation of the drama of pregnancy, labor, delivery, nursing and BEYOND! Aren't you excited?!

***I may have to reconsider my dislike for pacifiers. I didn't want to give her one for several reasons, but there may come a point when I decide enough is enough and get one for her. Besides pacifiers generally being filthy, dirty luxury passenger liners for germs, I figure the infant mouth has a purpose and should be available for that purpose. I want that kid to vocalize whenever she needs to instead of muffledly wailing "MMMMPFFF! URRRRR!" And eventually, I do actually want her to use her mouth to explore... within reason, of course. I'm not going to let her taste pointy knives or tacks or very small swallowable objects (even if they're not sharp!). Ah. There's the neuroscience junkie in me again. Use those neurons or lose 'em, baby.