Let the updatin' begin!
On the Home Front:
We're eatin' high on the hog every day thanks to a combination of pre-birth Mama FriedOkra, Nana and all of our wonderful neighbors. My freezer is literally groaning under the strain of all the VICTUALS (aka vittles) I made in advance and my mom whipped up while she was here, so I sometimes fear if anyone brought us more than a frozen slice of sausage pizza at this point there'd be a huge, loud explosion of stainless steel and plastic, and a shower of ice-cold chicken puffs, lasagna, steak-n-gravy and chicken casserole would rain down upon the neighborhood. Which I am not saying would be an altogether bad thing, perhaps just a little dangerous and messy as it all defrosted. I'm just sayin'.
If it weren't for the constant flow of calories STREAMING out of me and being subsequently greedily sucked into the Peanut, I'd be worried about gaining too much weight, (incidentally, you should SEE the dessert my neighbor Katie brought last night - OHMYGRANNY, y'all - almond-flavored cheesecake baked in a chocolate chip cookie dough crust with HUNKS more of the cookie dough running through it and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Yes, I WILL see if I can get that recipe for
The child can EAT. Gets it honestly, he does.
Al's home with us this week as Nana has flown the coop back to South Cackalacky. She was a great help what with all that cookin' and an extra large dose of reorganizing. I think my Mom has always viewed remediatin' my faulty sense of what-goes-where-ness to be her Numero Uno job as my parent since I was born, when she took a look at my little baby piggies and said, "Well Megan, you have one of every different kind of toe on each foot! That is no way to keep your things organized!" and she set to puttin' both big toes, both second toes and the third toe that has the freckle on one foot, and the other third toe, both fourth toes and of course the matched set of pinky-toes on the other. It looks funny, I'll grant you, but it MAKES ORGANIZATIONAL SENSE in my mother's mind, and that is what matters, ultimately, don't you know?
And re-doin' everything kept her busy and happy and gave her an excuse to dig around in my STUFF and see what I (literally) have hiding in my closets and cupboards, which I am guessin' may have been a bit of a let-down for her since I pretty much have all the same things SHE has, just, you know, in all the wrong places, and not one piece of it is even remotely controversial.
Oh, I'm kidding, Mom. I know you don't dig though my things out of nosiness - you do it out of love and well, if I know you, abject boredom.
(Mama's household duddn' quite live up to Nana's default level of activity, as Nana is set on HIGH at all times, and Mama has been set on SWEATY, MOTIONLESS HIPPO for 9 months and counting.)
Have I mentioned that I now have TWO of them? Yes, it would appear so, people.
See Mama adjust.
See Mama project into the future and wonder how she's gonna do this on her own next week when Daddy goes back to work two days before her big sister comes to town.
Bean appears to be havin' the time of her life, gobbling up all the extra attention from Nana and Daddy and me. She's a total sponge, y'all. She soaks up everything she hears and see and spits it back out in exchanges like these two:
Bean was poking around in her ear with one finger this morning, and eventually held out said digit proudly for me to inspect the fruits of her labor. (And that would be? Daddy's influence.)
Mama: (Gulp.) What's that?
Bean: Oh, it's jiss potatoes. (Nana's influence.)
Later, I was headed up to nurse Peanut for the 900th time this morning and Bean said, "Mama, don't feed him now! I want to kiss him."
Mama: Oh, let me feed him really quick - you want him to grow up and be big so he can play with you, right?
Bean: (Sobbing.) NO! I DO NOT WANT HIM TO GROW! I WANT HIM TO STAY LIIIIIIIII-TTLLLLLLLE FOREEEEEVER! (Guess whose influence THAT is?)
And Peanut? Well, what can you say about a boy who is absolutely textbook babyness, from the way his fuzzy head smells to the fact that he actually forms the words WAH, WAH when he cries? He's growing by leaps and bounds, sleeping up to four and a half hours at a stretch (the wrong stretches, of course, but that just goes back to bein' textbook baby, right?), and he goes through laundry faster than a head-cold ridden Ichabod Crane'd go through a box of cheap, see-thru store-brand tissues.
And he's, you know, PERFECTION.
The Mama feels better every single day. I've been off any kind of pain meds for 5 days now, I'm not even taking Tylenol anymore. My chief lingering complaint about the aftermath of the C-section is that two weeks later I'm STILL finding little sticky globs of dirty grey adhesive residue all over my body. Apparently there is a LOT of medical-grade tape involved in getting a baby out a window instead of the door.
I went out briefly yesterday to get THIS INFERNAL MOP OF SHREDDED WHEAT ATOP MY HEAD brought under control again. I kid you not, people. I got it cut the shortest it's ever been since back when my Mom usedta have it cut in a plain old boy cut (I don't know why she did that, y'all. I just don't know!) when I was 3 or 4 years old.
It's SUPERTY DUPERTY short in back, and stacked, and then longer in the front, like a POSH SPICY kinda thing only with ridiculously-short bangs that NO SPICE WOULD BE CAUGHT DEAD IN, because during the first few days of my post-natal-sweat-out-everything-but-the-kitchen-sink-fest my hair went all damp and limp and noodle-like and Al kept coming up to me and trying to paste my fringe off to one side of my brow with his fingers, even going so far once as to LICK HIS HAND and try to smooth them out of my eyes with a little "homemade hair gel." Gleh-eh-eck!
Right after he did that, I stormed away to the master bathroom, grabbed my utility scissors and proceded to hack off a hunk of bangs that will take until February to grow back right again.
But the spitting on my head has stopped, and for that I believe we can all breathe a deep sigh of gratitude.
And the haircut is pretty good, except for the "Hey, looky! I'm FIVE and I can tie my own shoes now" part up front.
And then wouldn't you just KNOW that the minute I walked in from that trip to the $$$$ALON, I mean the VERY MINUTE, DING! went my computer announcing an email from my friend and neighbor Maha who's been cuttin' my hair beautifully for the past 18 months but was on a hiatus thanks to some nerve damage in one hand, sayin' Hey, I'm back in bidness - when do you want to come let me do your hair? (Yes, I did paraphrase that. Maha wouldn't be caught dead sayin' bidness, I'm pretty sure.)
And I died a little inside because DARN IT ALL TO HECK, now I have to wait 6 weeks to go see my dear friend and get a little of that Maha-magic worked on these tresses of mine.
I have my two-week post C-section check up this afternoon with my wonderful doctor and would you believe I'm actually looking forward to seeing her? And I have a list of Can-I-do-this-now-pleases? as long as my arm, not the least of which is CAN I PLEASE TAKE A BATH? IN MY TUB? WITH ALL THE COZY WARM WATER SLOSHING AROUND ME AND THE PEACE AND THE SOLITUDE?
Because land-o-mercy people I do not think I can go another. single. day without my little customary evening escape to the tubby! Showers just do NOT do it for me in terms of the soul-settling that I crave. Did I ever tell y'all my college roommates called me Wally the Walrus, such was my affinity for a little splishy-splashy in the tub of an evenin'? Oh yes, they did!
Anyway if there's anything exciting or morbidly embarrassing to report after that appointment you know you can count on me to lay it all out for you in full and righteous detail sometime soon so you can laugh your heads off at my humble yet worthy expense.
Is quite simply a puddle of molten Daddy chocolate sauce. He loves his baby. He loves his little girl. He is sleeping very well through the night and eating every bit as voraciously as the other testosterone-driven specimen in the household. I've resorted to keeping him tethered to the furniture when he's in the 2-story living room lest he float up to the ceiling like Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins, such is that man's deep and abiding joy in this sweet time of new babyhood and a seemingly endless food supply. Men are so easy!
And that's the news from FriedOkra Manor. Hope y'all are all healthy, happy and enjoying the final shreds of summer. The angle of the sunlight in the late afternoon here says fall is on the way, and I, for one, await to its arrival with a forward-looking nostalgia that only a hormone-laden 40-year-old sweaty hippo like myself could muster.
Have a great weekend, people!