Cocktails at Four

The other day I was part of a conversation that went like this:

"I saw you out running the other day. You don't even look like you had a baby."
"Oh, thanks." [But my pants still don't fit right. Explain that, if you can.]
"But I guess you didn't really gain that much weight....Now, when I got pregnant, my toes got pregnant."

 Really? your toes got pregnant, and gave birth to little baby toes? I've seen your shoes, and they're pretty small. Where do your toes keep their baby toes? Or have the baby toes left home, and now the insides of your shoe are papered with pictures of the little grandbaby toes?

I promise that, if you come back later, say, four in the morning, the above will be funny. Because that's when I thought of it. At four in the morning, trying to not fall asleep, feeding my baby her cocktail bottle.

 

Her hand found its way out the neck of her sleeper, just so she could give this thoughtful pose.

 Cocktail bottle? Yes, that's right. My baby has decided that's what she likes best. The bottle part, specifically. I'd much rather be breastfeeding, but finally decided the frustration just was not worth it. Luckily, I've got quite a supply of milk in the freezer from all the pumping I did while she was in the hospital, which I'm trying to make last as long as possible to help out with her immune system. So her bottles consist of thawed breastmilk, a little preemie formula, thickener to help her keep her food down, and once a day, a multivitamin with iron. That's a lot of things for such a little baby. But according to the unscientific method of putting her on a bathroom scale, she has gained two pounds since birth and more than a pound since coming home. She's also developed a little double chin, which looks funny on such a skinny baby.

She's lately shown a preference for getting her days and nights mixed up, with unpleasant consequences. So we're working on getting that straightened out. We might also put her in the crib in Nathan's room, since this little miss shows a most unladylike tendency to grunt and complain--quite loudly--in her sleep. Hopefully Nathan can sleep through it, because I can't.

 

As for Nathan, he's doing well. The novelty of a real live baby has worn off, but he's still doing well. He's starting to learn what it means to be a big brother, which is: don't share your binky with the baby, don't throw toys at the baby, and you can help hold her bottle if you do it gently. He has one of my old dolls (don't even say it, Alan and Michael, it's a bald doll and therefore gender-neutral) and a frog that he likes to take care of, giving them his binky and sippy cup, wrapping them in blankets, and once frog got to sit in his high chair for some lunch. He's started lying down with a blanket and saying "shh," which is his way of pretending to be asleep. He's enjoyed watching the Olympics (or "limpsk") and saying "oh, wow" about every thirty seconds. I got him to be especially impressed with the figure skating, just to make his dad crazy. And this morning he gave Clara a fist bump.

That's it, really. We're just waiting for winter to be over.