Poojuice

So... yes. The babywoman still cries uncontrollably. At this point, it's probably not reflux, but Dr. Pelinka thinks we should keep up with the medicine until the full two-week trial is up. I appreciate those who gave me reflux-related advice, but I think when next Monday rolls around, I'll be tossing that medication in the trash. Oh well. It was worth a try.

Today was Amelia's two-month checkup.* She was fussier during this visit than she was during this month's visit, though I'm not sure how much I should attribute to the most epic poosplosion of all time.

After checking in at the front desk, I uncover Amelia's lower half to see what any new parent dreads discovering... yellow poojiuce soaked through baby's pants. Oh dear. And, of course, Amelia is already bawling at the top of her lungs. The little babywoman doesn't seem to mind wet or soiled diapers as I've heard some babies do, so, to my despair, I know cleaning the poosplosion is probably not going to shut up the baby. In fact, I'm reasonably certain cleaning up this modern artform will likely only make her more upset. What she really wants is to nurse. But am I going to nurse her in this state? Hhhheck no.

And then the waiting room is full of people.

So, I know most of the parents there aren't thinking, What's wrong with that woman? Why can't she get her baby to just shut up? But still. I'm a little self-conscious, and I'm thinking to myself, Self, everybody here thinks you're an incompetent bum-mother! And then I think, No, Self! No, they don't!

Nevertheless, when I pull baby out of the carseat, I start cooing loudly that I know exactly what will make her feel better, even though I'm convinced she's going to scream for the next hour straight. And then I proceed to pretend that the squirt is crying only because she poosploded. Really, everybody, I am the most competent mother on the planet. My baby never cries except under great duress. Like epic poosplosions. Clearly, I haven't been trying to comfort the creature into silence (or, even better, coos and giggles) for the last two weeks. I've totally got this.

So, yeah. There I am trying to appear competent. Thankfully I have a multitude of plastic grocery bags, so I can toss the poojuiced clothing in one, and then another one for the overwhelmed diaper and the plenitude of wipes that are about to meet their destiny.

I disrobe the little one and discover, to my intense dismay, that the poo is caked all down her leg and is smushed in between her toes. It is also on her chest and back. And Amelia is screaming, her eyes pleaing and demanding, Mother! Why are you taking off my clothes!? Hoooold me! I want to nurse! Why do you torture me so!?

Some woman with a three-year-old daughter walks past me, and looks down at my screaming poo-covered baby in disgust. She comments to her own daughter, "So what do you think? Should Mommy have another baby?" The toddler replies, wide-eyed, "No. No, Mommy, don't do it." "That's right," she assented. "Mommy is never having another baby." And then she visibly shuddered.**

I use the entire supply in my go-to wipe box. And it really just looks like I've spread the poo around Amelia's poor angry, trembling body. Thankfully, I have a backup wipe box in the bag. Someone in the waiting room lets out an audible sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I was afraid she didn't have enough wipes!" And then I empty the second box... and pull out my very last box of wipes--my backup backup box of wipes. Someone else mutters to their neighbor, "I don't think I ever carried that many wipes with me at a time. I couldn't imagine a diaper explosion that big..." I think that lady just got lucky or something. Or had one baby who had small, frequent bowel movements. Something like that.

Amelia is finally somewhat clean, but is angrier than ever. I've been cooing, "Does this feel better yet? I know, this is uncomfortable..." the entire time. I almost start putting a fresh onesie on, when I remember that I should probably just hold the naked mole-rat for a while, as I'm going to have to strip her for the weigh-in anyway.

I finally start nursing her, and she practically bites my nubs off with enthusiasm, and perhaps a hint of bitterness. Thankfully, although she doesn't get at all quiet, she stops all out screaming.

The appointment with the doctor went fine. Amelia still looks perfectly healthy. Regarding her weight, the pediatrician commented, "You know, you don't have to feed her so much... I mean, she's not going to grow up obese or anything, but..." And then the baby cried and cried. Of course, once she started drifting off to sleep, she got three lovely, pokey shots. And then she screamed some more. Yay...

So yeah. That's been my day. I'm exhausted. Washing out the poojuiced clothing was great fun. It was sticky and and thick and gross. How are you?

Love and poojuice,
Jenna and Amelia
_____
*The pediatrician was dressed as Minnie Mouse.
**I got the impression the toddler had been begging for a baby brother or baby sister.

Strike of the Colic... Maybe.

Hello, fans! After considering my options, I've decided to learn Serbian. See, James really, really, really wants to speak Serbian with Amelia (and me), and that'd be easiest if all three of us could carry on a conversation in Serbian. So... yeah. I've been learning vocabulary... we took masking tape and labeled all our furniture in the living room. I can say couch, bookshelf, printer, computer, table, chair, box, lid, wheel, floor, wall, window, and ceiling. I can't, however, construct a simple sentence like, The couch is blue. I can,  though, flirt a little. I can say, You are handsome. And I love you. And also You are horrible. I promise, that last one can be construed as flirtatious depending on how you say it. (Џејмс, ти си страшан!)

As if prompted by my complaint about having free time, Amelia suddenly became very, very fussy starting some time last week. The poor kid cries until she turned purple, and then starts choking on her own spittle. If you want to know what she sounds like at her angriest, don't swallow your spit for a few minutes. Then gurgle that spit, while screaming at 90-115 decibels.

All our soothing tricks were strangely less effective. Nursing, however, is still Amelia's favorite thing ever. So, pretty soon, I began nursing the monster 24/7. I mean it! We'd finally be asleep, and then... catastrophe! The nipple would fall out of her mouth. Terror! Calamity! Needless to say, Amelia would fuss and cry until she was nursing again, and it would continue all through the night, just like that. Unfortunately, Amelia still recognizes pacifiers as inferior imposters, and, although fingers are still acceptable, I think even those are losing their savor. Maybe she just prefers the taste of human flesh.

We finally ran out of ideas for soothing her, and I figured that as much as this is stressing us out, it's probably nothing compared to all the stress hormones coursing through her system whenever she turns purple with rage.

So, I took her to the pediatrician. You know, just to make sure something horrible isn't going on. Like... a growth-hormone-secreting tumor on her pituitary gland. Or an alien virus slowly eating her toenails. You know. Stuff like that. Well, the doctor didn't find anything wrong. In fact, as Dr. Pelinka examined Amelia's belly, she was showered with beautiful baby smiles.

Wait, seriously, little lady? I take you in to the doctor because you're super fussy, and this is how you act? Sunny and happy, with not a care in the world? Goodness, you haven't smiled at me for days! And thus I ended up bursting into tears in the pediatrician's office, feeling pretty pathetic. And jealous. How dare the pediatrician steal my hard-earned baby smiles.

Anyway, she (the pediatrician) didn't find anything obviously wrong with the baby, which is great. It's also a little disappointing, in a way, because that means there isn't anything obvious or easy to fix and magically make the crying stop.

Dr. Pelinka thought that perhaps Amelia has reflux, and the digestive juices are scorching her throat and stuff. (Ouch!) There's a pretty invasive test that could diagnose it (or rule it out) for sure, but it involves an overnight stay in the hospital with a tube down her throat for 24 hours. So instead she told us to try reflux medicine for two weeks to see if it helps.* Oh, and the other usual advice, like keeping her upright as much as possible (especially after eating), and all that jazz.

And if treating for reflux doesn't help, then it's "just" colic. I.e. "just" unexplained crying. Woohoo! This seems odd to me, because it was my understanding that colic is typically worst at about 6 weeks after baby's due date. And, um, so why did it start so late, and continue to get worse? Sigh. She's almost 10 weeks old now. If it's just colic, then if we can't get her to stop crying after all our little tricks that usually work wonders**, then we're just supposed to hold the screaming baby while wearing ear plugs. ... Awesome.

It is my hope that the reflux medication is helpful... I mean, Amelia does exhibit enough symptoms that it could be reflux. Sigh. I just want her to be happy.

Sometimes I think, Man, I wish Amelia spoke English. And then I realize that might not actually be all that helpful. She'd be like, "Huh. I don't feel good." "Oh? Tell me about this." "... I don't know, Mom. I haven't quite figured out how locate feelings in my body. It could be in my head. Or my foot. Or even my eyelashes. I don't know. It just doesn't feel good."*** ... It wouldn't be much more helpful than the crying, even if it were less annoying. Sigh.

In other news, it seems Amelia has developed a propensity for nightmares****, just in time for Halloween. Just the other night, the kid was happily asleep, cuddling with her also-asleep daddy. I was trying to fall asleep as well, and was staring at her, when, all of a sudden--"AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" The sleeping kid let out a sudden shriek, and yikes, did she sound terrified.

Amelia's eyes shot wide open in terror and bewilderment, as if she had no idea that she was the one who had screamed. James bolted upright, suddenly awake. I also bolted upright and scooped up the kid and got her nursing immediately. That seemed to calm her down fairly quickly. She was drenched in sweat.

Something similar happened this morning. She woke up suddenly again, but without the scream. Instead, she hyperventilated herself awake. Her breathing got faster and faster until her eyes shot open and her limbs splayed outward, flailing in terror. It was like she thought she was falling down a bottomless pit or something.

Anyway, wish us luck!
Џена н Амилија
____
*Sigh. So if Amelia stops crying so much during these two weeks, how do I know it was actually the medicine and not, say, getting older, or the weather, or some other factor?
**I highly recommend Dr. Harvey Karp's "The Happiest Baby on the Block". If you're one of my pregnant friends, go check it out from the library. Doooo it. Other tricks--walking outside, warm baths, cuddling baby close to a vibrating Adam's apple (James likes to sing).
***Ah, the disadvantages of a developing nervous system...
****What do babies have nightmares about? Oh no! It was so horrible! I dreamt that I woke up in that place!  What place? That place where no one holds the baby! ... Oh. That.. sounds... awful. I guess. What? I could have DIED, you know.

Scandalous!

Hey everybody! How's it going? Oh. Okay. If you say so.

Amelia is well... or at least she is today. On Saturday and Sunday she seemed sick. She had a sore throat and cried a lot... and despite seeming super sleepy, she'd wake up super easily. Poor baby. On the plus side, it didn't last very long. I ended up sending James to the store on Sunday to get pain reliever for baby. (Scandalous, I know. But if Mama Bear says go get medicine for baby, you go get that medicine.) After she had a little Tylenol she slept like a rock. Woot!

Turns out though that Amelia is not perfectly well. She has a yeasty diaper rash. Poor baby. The pediatrician's nurse told us to change her diapers as soon as she's wet... for the most part we'd been doing that already, but now I'm making myself wake her up to change her bum. She's not a fan of this new plan. I don't think I am either, but they said it should be all better in three days. I can do this for three days, right?

We now have a baby swing. It was free. People told us to get one that you can plug into the wall, but sadly, the only free swing available was battery-operated. It takes four C batteries. Grody. Oh well. I stocked up on those during my Costco trip today... and besides, Amelia likes it. She is sleeping in it behind me as I type. Happy baby.

So now I come to my big issue.

Believe it or not, I still have some of this stuff called free time. I was under the impression that I would no longer have any of this bizarre byproduct once I gave birth, but I have been mistaken or misinformed. Amelia sleeps a lot. And there are plenty of times when she is sleeping wherein I can do whatever I want. Before Amelia came, I figured I'd sleep during these times, but now that those times actually come, I'm not sleepy.

So... what do I do?

This is a big deal for me. This is the first time where I don't have a personal goal. I'm not vying to complete high school or college. I'm not working outside the home. I... feel almost aimless. Outside of motherhood, I have nothing. And I thought that'd be fine, because I thought my life would be 100% motherhood. It's not.

I've been studying my patriarchal blessing for help, but it's not so helpful. It tells me I have lots of talents and I should use them and develop them and such. That sounds helpful at first, but yesterday I tried to make a list of talents I have. It was difficult.

Don't laugh! It's not that I don't realize that I have lots of talents and skills, it's just that singling them out and putting words to them is hard! And then trying to pick one out that just happens to be something I can work on for 5- to 200-minute portions (with little to no notice) is hard!

Someone suggested that I should blog more. I don't know what else to write about besides my personal life. And my personal life is... well, already plastered all over this here blog. I'm a little spread thin on topics.

Also people tell me I should make the blog into a book or something. That seems... weird to me. I figure I only have 80 readers** on average for each post. And commercializing my writing seems a little unnatural at this point anyway. (Don't try to convince me otherwise! Grrr!)

People say my writing is funny. I promise I'm not trying to be funny, I actually think this way.*

I've also thought of music or something, but I don't have a piano. Maybe there is lonely empty-nester in Springfield with a piano who wouldn't mind frequent visits from Amelia and me. If that's you, you should tell me. Now. We can be best friends, right?

James also wants me to teach myself Serbian. We have some textbooks that I've been reading. I can say your face (твоје лице). And a few other choice phrases.

Help. Suggestions are welcome. I figure an outside view will be very helpful. Again, halp!

Anyhoo,
Џена и Амилија

*I guess that's not entirely true anymore, although it was when I started. Now I get self-conscious when people don't comment or like my post, and start thinking, Oh my goodness, I must be a failure or something. This post must not have been funny, or something. And then I think, Self, you are ridiculous. You read and enjoy plenty of things without commenting or liking them. And then, Oh. Yeah. You're right, Self. Then: Yes, Self, I know.

**Some posts mysteriously get about 50 more readers. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the promise of scandal in the title? Ooh, I know. I call this post Scandalous and everyone will read it! Maybe. Hey, I even used the word earlier in the post, it's fair...

To Offend and to Be Offended

“He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool.” --Brigham Young

I have a question for the general populace, but it will take some preliminary explaining.

I have noticed--throughout my lifetime--the ease with which people are offended. And, more importantly, stay offended.

Now, to make sure semantics do not cloud my meaning, let me explain exactly what kind of "offended" I am referring to...

When I refer to an offended person in this post, I refer to someone who is feeling resentful displeasure and they take it very personally. They seem to judge the offender severely, and seem to assume that the offender offended the offendee on purpose and with clear evil intent. In essence, to have hurt feelings and to resent the offender, judging them to be a bad person. And (here's the part I really don't understand) they don't just let that go. They keep those feelings like a cherished, but poisonous pet.

I'm having a hard time adequately explaining what I think I am observing in others, because, in my honest opinion, I have never felt this way, although some may have misinterpreted my body language and felt that they have offended me.*

I don't get offended. Really.

In the majority of cases, if something someone says or does strikes me as inappropriate, I don't feel bad about it for longer than a few seconds (you know, the few seconds of visceral, gut reaction emotions which pop up no matter what). Perhaps without even giving it a second thought, I'd assume that no offense was intended and that, really, it was an act of absentmindedness that does not warrant my attention.

It seems to me that this response is...well, uncommon. People all around me get and stay offended all the time, including many of the ones who tell me they don't get offended easily.

In my mind, taking offense makes absolutely no sense. At all. I see the root of taking offense as misinterpretation. And, well, that can easily be avoided. Just don't interpret it if it doesn't make sense to you, and you do not have adequate information to interpret it accurately. Just don't. (Or, go ask about it from the source of the offending act or comment. Get more information!) I see, at this root of offense, the logical fallacy of ascribing your own points of view, thought processes, reactions, etc. to another person.** Just acknowledge you don't know why that person is doing what they're doing, and leave it at that.***

Life is easier that way. It's easy to get along with people if you never get offended. Like... really easy. Everybody seems intrinsically nice. And, provided you don't find the time you spend with a particular person boring, that person could easily be your friend!

So. Here is the question I wanted to pose to the general populace: Why, oh why, does it so often seem like no one else realizes this? It pains me. Immensely. I see all the time people who are lonely and want more friends either get offended by a potential friend or assume that they have offended this someone--and thus, unfairly disqualifying this person from the pool of available friends. This is so sad!

Please, friends, if you're going to get offended, do it fleetingly. The disease of staying offended has to be one of the most agonizing maladies out there.****

______

* It occurs to me, though, that people may have thought I was offended when I wasn't. Even friends who know me well have misread my body language. In particular, one roommate I had often thought I was offended at something I did, and when she expressed to me her discomfort about having offended me, I felt confusion and thought, Wait, what? I didn't mean to send off offended vibes; I have only benign feelings (or perhaps indifference) about that situation! In fact, I'd completely forgotten about the incident! This same roommate misread my body language in other ways. On multiple occasions, she showed me funny clips from The Big Bang Theory. She'd crack up, feeling a little insecure because I wasn't laughing. After the clip was over, she'd express disappointment that I didn't like the video--and I'd think, Wait, what? What do you mean I didn't like the video? That was hilarious! I loved it! Why would you think I didn't like it? ... And then I would realize that throughout the video, not only was I not laughing, I wasn't even smiling. Whilst the clip had captured my attention, I was bordering on a deadpan expression.

** I wonder if this is why my roommate so often misinterpreted my feelings. Did she see my reactions to events and think I must be thinking and feeling exactly the same thing she would in that situation? Or think, Oh, if I was acting like that, it would mean I felt like this. This is what Jenna must be feeling. Oh, no!

*** And, as with all emotions, while you may not be able to prevent the initial emotion and feeling that something unjust has happened, you can choose whether or not to feed and adopt that feeling, or let it starve to death.

**** I worry that I must be horrible at recognizing social cues, because I never know when someone thinks I offended them (unless they straight up tell me). I squirm inside to think that I have offended someone or many someones, but I don't know about it. I can't remedy the situation if I never realize that someone felt hurt by it! No one tells me I've offended them, but given the prevalence of the art of getting and staying offended, I'm sure I've offended many unknowingly. If you are one of these, sorry. :( :( :(

Define "Easy Baby"

I find myself wondering if Amelia is an "easy baby" or a "difficult baby". I'm not exactly sure what either of these are. And then I think, Oh, she must be a good baby, because she doesn't have episodes of inconsolable crying. Not really.

And then I continue thinking, Yes, but... Self, she WOULD cry if you stopped walking her around the block over and over and over again... She'd almost certainly cry if I ever tried to put her in a crib by herself... I mean, she cries if I'm six inches away during the night. She gets cuddles nearly 24/7! 

So there. Is Amelia "easy" or "difficult"? Hard question. It occurs to me then that a baby that one pair of parents might consider "easy" would be "supremely difficult" to another pair. Therefore, I shall abandon the aforementioned question--for now--and proclaim my child an Amelia baby. That, at least, I can say for sure.

Amelia basically sleeps through most nights, no problem. She sleeps for 3-  to 5-hour stretches at a time, eats, and then sleeps for another 3- to 5-hour stretch. She only does so at night when all the lights are off. If the lights are on while we're getting ready for bed, her eyes pop right open. And, in the morning when the sunshine streams in through the window, she's awake again. 

So, most nights, she is an "easy" baby. She sleeps next to me in bed all night.* I find that I am aware of her all night, and I wake easily. I can usually come quickly to her rescue with food before she actually wakes up... she squeaks and starts bobbing for nipples if she's hungry. I can also frequently check to make sure she's not too cold or too hot, and make sure she is still on her back. I love cuddling with her all night. And I guess she does too, because if I move away from her, she complains.

The daytime is sometimes a bit different. It's a little harder on a parent to be cuddling with the baby constantly during the day, because there's a lot more to do besides sleep. I might want to, say, write a blog post. That requires two hands. I might want to, say, eat a bowl of cereal. Or any number of things that requires two hands.

Well, Amelia does like to be held close. Enter the Moby wrap. Tada! That helps a lot. If we can somehow get her into a good, deep sleep (this often involves walking around the block several times) we can just wear her while doing any number of things. Like write a blog post. I am wearing my sleeping baby right now, as I type... although she notices that I've stopped walking every now and again, and then I get to go walk around the block yet one more time. Ohp, it's happening. Excuse me while I walk the kid a bit.

Okay, we're back. Did I mention that I'm tired of walking around the block? One of my legs is longer than the other, and so any amount of activity can send me into a world of pain (on just one half of my body!) without much warning. I keep hoping whatever is hurting will get stronger or something and get over it, but I think it's just getting weaker. While walking Amelia last night, one of my legs was too weak to hold up my own weight whilst walking in a straight line. I was moving like a drunken sailor. Needless to say, I made James finish the walking before bedtime.

So yeah. Amelia likes to lie still while her parents walk her or jiggle her... and you know what? Whereas James is a natural wiggler (can't sit still, CAN'T SIT STILL!), I am the opposite (can't not sit still, CAN'T NOT SIT STILL!). I am exhausted after jiggling the kid for a mere 30 seconds. Moving that much just seems so unnatural. I am working on the acquisition of a baby swing, in the hopes that this might spare me the agony of excess movement.

And I've mentioned before that Amelia has a profound need to suck on something, be it a nipple or a parental finger or thumb. Ah, you say, that is solved easily. Just get the squirt a pacifier!

Fools! The child knows you are trying to dupe her with fake nipples. She spits them out with rage and demands something far more personal, and far more dear to your heart. Like your nipple. Or your finger, which you were planning to use to do any number of productive things with. Amelia will suck and suck at the breast until she is overfilled, then projectile vomit, then demand more boob, then vomit, and so on and so forth. Sometimes she will accept the inferior finger (particularly if you don't smell like tasty mother's milk), and then suck it until it is pruny.

Yes, I tried several different kind of pacifiers. They all failed. Some failed less than others (she sucked on one for two minutes before never accepting it again!), but they did indeed all fail.** Which isn't so bad, seeing as I wasn't so keen on using a pacifier in the first place. And guess what? Amelia is starting to discover these new inventions called fingers and thumbs for herself. I think before long she'll suck on her own.

So yeah. I think I've finally come up with a good label for Amelia. She is a "easy, but high maintenance" baby. She's easy... just so long as you keep her on your person at all times, walk her often, and always have a finger or nipple available for sweet sucking.

There are those times, though, when she is in a calm, alert state. In those times, I'd say she is truly an easy baby. You can tell that the kid is really paying attention. She likes her board book "Black & White"... which is basically high contrast pictures. The pictures of the buttons and the bird are her favorite.

Amelia has a strong neck. She can hold her neck up while sitting up almost all the time, albeit a little shakily. And, as long as James or I are helping her balance, she'll sit up too. This weirds me out a little... I didn't think this was supposed to happen yet, but she just loves to sit up and look around. I don't know how far she can see, but I'm convinced she recognizes us from two or three feet away.

Amelia is ginormous. She is over 11 pounds now, and continues to gain 2-3 ounces daily. Ay caramba. She is also quite vocal and can make lots of funny sounds, and makes the most delightful funny faces. I think she's experimenting. She can smile socially now, but she only does it few times each day. It's odd, but I think she is intrigued by the reaction her smile elicits. I suspect she'll figure out soon what it means to us.

A social worker visits us every week. She's pointed out signs of a high intellect--first, she stops crying hungrily when she hears my bra unclip... that is, as long as she isn't crying too loudly to hear it. Second, she figured out immediately that darkness means sleeptime and daytime is playtime. And there's a few others... she seems to pick out associations quite well.

So yeah. She seems to be developing quickly. I wonder if all parents think their kid is more awesome than most. And I wonder if I should just keep my mouth shut. Am I bragging? I think I am. A little. I do like hearing other people tell me my baby is super smart. My dad told me that Amelia is perfect. I liked that. I think any parent would.

Well, love and board books,
Jenna and Amelia

______

* As far as I (and our pediatrician) can tell, we are doing this safely. I know there is controversy regarding bedsharing with an infant, and I will freely admit that there are high-risk groups who should never bedshare... But as far as I can tell, all the evidence against bedsharing is no better than, say, evidence against crib-sleeping. There is so much bad science out there... lots of cultural bias. After all, when you hear that a baby died in a crib, you don't see the headline, "Yet Another Death Due to Crib Sleeping!" You do see details about what happened... SIDS? Suffocation by blanket? Sleeping prone? Etc. You don't see that if a baby dies while bedsharing. You don't hear that the parents were dumb and were drunk. Or that they were sleeping on a couch (always bad with a baby). Or that they had jillions of pillows in bed with them. Etc. Ugh. I could go on and ON.

** This is somewhat absurd, but both James and I have voiced the irrational fear that just as Amelia can recognize nipple imposters while unconscious, she might also recognize a swing as fake parental movement and fake parental cuddles. Doom!

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