Is This a Boobie Which I See Before Me? (Month One)

In the first month of Vivian’s life, she astonished us with a multitude of things:

1)  Her ability to projectile spit up

2)  Her ability to pack on the pounds (one pound a week for the first 2 months roughly)

3)  Her ability to get right back on the boob, with gusto, right after emptying the contents of her stomach

4)  Her ability to wrap us around her tiny, delicate, sharply nailed little fingers

The first time it happened, I cried out and Mr. Cookie came running, thinking the worst had happened.  In actuality, what had happened was that Viv had just (after nursing for the umpteenth time that hour) spit up AT LEAST 50 ounces and it was everywhere.  I was drenched.  She was drenched.  The chair was drenched.  And soon, Mr. Cookie was drenched too because he took her from me so I could get cleaned up.  As I was cleaning up, I heard Mr. Cookie saying from the other room “umm, hon.  I think she’s hungry.”  I came back out and sure enough, the tongue was out, the lips were smacking, and she was eying Mr. Cookie’s chest with the kind of intense look she usually reserved for me.  This happened a minimum of once a day.  Oh me.  I was convinced that she was wasting away, that she had all sorts of terrible Google-found illnesses that would surely result in a lifetime of special needs and/or surgeries.  Then we went to the pediatrician for her check-up and she had gained a pound (back from her lowest point post birth).  In a week.  “She’s a happy spitter!”  The pediatrician gleefully told us.  When we went in for the next checkup, another pound had been gained.  “She’s a poster child for breastfeeding!” we were joyfully informed.  Several subsequent weeks.  “She’s very advanced for her age!”  Of course she is, we’d think, patting ourselves on the back.  But Viv always made sure we weren’t too cocky.  She was always ready with the deluge.  Always willing to remind us that no, we were not the world’s perfect parents.  We did, on occasion, probably feed her too much.  And by we, I mean I.  Although, let’s be fair.  Mr. Cookie did his share of “I think she’s hungry” pass-offs.  I’ll never forget the time Mr. Cookie took her in the carrier to Walgreens and as he was leaving, I offered him a burp cloth.  “We’ll be fine!”  He intoned as he sauntered out the door.  20 minutes later, I got the phone call.  “She just spit up all over me!”  He came back home and spit up was leaking down his front, onto the leg of his shorts.  Silly man.

The end of the month saw Mr. Cookie’s return to work and Nonni’s arrival from Alaska.  Nonni and I embarked on a mission that I did not think I would be so driven about- getting the girl to accept a pacifier.  She had such a need to be constantly sucking, but clearly this whole nursing for 20 jillion hours out of the day think wasn’t working for anyone.  And the pacifier was simply a pathetic stand in.  Note to new moms:  If you want your child to take a pacifier and they absolutely won’t (for whatever reason, no judgment), please for the love of all that is good and holy, try more than one kind.  After trying the Soothie for a week straight, I finally broke down and bought 50 skrillion different kinds.  Thankfully for our bank account, she accepted the first one we gave her (MAM) and I was able to return the rest.  Phew!

Okay.  What you’re really here for:

Vivian’s first photo shoot

Vivian cheers on Daddy’s softball team

I say, old chap!  Have you got a boob you can spare?

Sitting pretty


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    David said,

    Love the photos!

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