When I listen to Black Eyed Peas' My Humps, I can't help but think about my lady lumps, my post-pregnancy lady lumps. Not the ones in the front, not the ones in back, but the ones on the side. Yep, those lumpity torso lumps. It makes me giggle to think of those lumpity torso lumps as my lovely lady lumps.
My entries here seem to have slowed to a dribble. I need to get into some sort of routine. Me and MrMan, both, I guess. Motherhood has recently become more all-consuming. More than it used to be, and more than it should be, I think. Moderation in all things.
Today was the longest time MrMan and I have spent apart since arriving here a month ago: 1 whole hour. I got my haircut ($12 at the Aveda Institute!) while he and my mom went to the library for her school assignment. It's not that I don't want to spend a little more time away from him, and I think that I should spend a little more time away from him, it's just that I find it difficult. I finally pumped and froze a little last week - a milk stockpile it isn't, but it's now physically feasible for us to be apart.
In Honolulu, I would often go out and run errands and MrMan would stay with Sam, but that apart time doesn't happen here. Partly, it's because I don't have so many errands to run, since the household isn't as much my responsibility. Partly, it's a warped sense of parental responsibility, not wanting to impose on my parents. Though they're delighted to have him here.
I don't want to burnout. And I don't want MrMan to be socially retarded, unable to interact with people who aren't me. To help address the latter, I've signed up for a moms' group, to give him the opportunity to stare at other kids. (Let's see if I actually am social enough to get us to the next get together.) To help address the former, I need to find an activity just for me, even if it's just once a week for an hour or two.
Yesterday, driving along, it hit me that I've been professionally unemployed for a month. Other than being concerned about money, I like it.
Dear MrMan,
Yesterday, you turned four months old. Oh, where to start? You were already such an amazing creature, and somehow you've become more amazing. I guess the easy stuff is the physical. You are now a little more than twice your birth weight. (You went to the doctor on Thursday. You handled this set of four shots much better than your last, despite the inordinate time in the waiting room.) You barely resemble your first pictures, taken oh-so long ago. Your hair is growing thicker. It's even starting to grow in your bald spot, achieved through incessant turning from side to side. Two weeks ago, your bald spot was silky smooth, now it's feeling stubbly. Your eyebrows, which hardly existed at birth, are now quite present, and the hairs are even long enough to get messy. Oh, the fun we'll have with Ameh Joon. Your eyes seem to be settling on a color, though it's one hard to describe. Somewhere between taupe and hazel? And I don't think I ever told you this before, but, at birth, the toenails on your big toes were almost fused to your toes - almost as if you'd been kicking really hard at the womb walls. I couldn't cut the toenails for a while, because I couldn't easily distinguish between toe and nail. That issue is long gone.
We've now been in New Orleans about three weeks. So far, you seem to like it. I think that maybe the part you like most about being here is Maman Jan. Often, just her appearing before you is enough to make you laugh with delight. It's not just a laugh with your mouth - it's a belly laugh. Other things you like about being here include the curtains in our bedroom, the cushions in the yellow room, the cushions in the living room.... Notice a theme? You do like your textiles, preferably ones with an interesting texture. I guess it couldn't be otherwise. Did you know that my side of the family focuses on texture so much that Daddy can't hear the word without thinking of us?
You really like to examine everything closely. And it's not just with your eyes - it's with your whole body. When something catches your eye, you remind me of a skier, the way you stiffen your body and lean forward. Your mouth hangs open, wanting to wrap itself around whatever it is. I know that your starting teething is part of it. But only part of it. The other part seems to be curiousity. We've had to cover the seat back of your new bouncer because you were so frustrated at being able to see the pictures on it out of the corner of your eye, but not able to look at it straight on or chew on it.
Your eye-hand coordination has grown by leaps and bounds. Ten days ago, you were struggling to touch one of the bugs hanging on your carseat/carrier. Now, you're able to touch it, hit it, grab it, and bring it to your mouth. All signs indicate you're a rightie.
Your interest in words and letters is increasing. You're fascinated by the computer keyboard. You stare at the Chinese characters on the cushions. When we read to you, you often focus more on the words than the pictures. The changing table is in front of a bookshelf and you can't keep your eyes off of the bounty.
You've become increasingly enchanted with your reflection. Even when you're crying, a trip to the mirror will usually result in a smile. What makes it super cute is that you're a little bashful about it, eventually turning away while trying to discretely look at this little boy who seems to pop up all the time. You're also interested in other little kids, gazing at pictures of your uncles when they were younger. A few days ago, you met another baby your age, but you'd just awakened and weren't too into it. He, however, was stoked. I plan to spend more time in the grocery store on weekday mornings, as I'm sure that this will provide an opportunity for you to meet other wee ones.
Last weekend, we went to the zoo for the first time. Your favorite things were the birds and the trees. Your excitement about the birds extended to your toes. At the zoo and around the neighborhood, you are very content to watch the trees. Especially last week, when it was breezy and we could watch the branches swaying in the wind. Daddy and I had determined you are ocean type (I'll have to explain this phrase another time), but it seems that, really, you are outdoor type. You are perfectly content to sit on the front porch. So, content, in fact, that you sometimes cry when we come inside. Maman Jan delights in your appreciation for the outdoors and has starting teaching you the names of various flowers and trees.
You're a master of communication, especially for someone who can't yet speak. But, you are very good at making your wishes known. For now, I generally do as you wish, to reinforce your communication and to establish your trust in the world. But don't expect me to always do what you want. Because that a turkey makes ;) You seem to have a good sense of humor. I know, a funny thing to say about a four-month old. But you have a sparkle in your eye that tells us so. You still fight the sleep - now at night, too, since your routine has been disrupted and you don't have Daddy's belly to fall asleep on. Too bad we don't have a prosthetic belly. But I do have Daddy's words ("rub the belly... squeeze the sides... bend the legs...") which do wonders for calming you, even at the height of crying, and even if I'm not actually doing the actions.
MrMan, I'll be honest - being a Mommy is tiring. Especially without Daddy. (Being with Maman Jan and Papa Joon is good, but it's not the same. For example, on weekend mornings, I can no longer sleep in while the other person in the room entertains you, because the only other person in the room is you, and, apparently, you do not find you as entertaining as I do.) But, it's so worth it. Whether you're laughing or crying, chatty or quiet, awake or asleep, it's worth it.
Love,
Mommy
Yesterday, I accidentally ate one of MrMan's boogers. Wait! Before you walk away in disgust, let me tell you what happened. I was eating oatmeal, and standing over MrMan talking to him. I saw what I assumed to be a piece of escaped oatmeal on MrMan's face. So I picked it up and stuck it in my mouth. Except once I stuck it in my mouth, I realized it was really salty. Too salty for oatmeal.
What's a mother to do but laugh? And share, so you can laugh?
*Can't you see John Candy saying that to Steve Martin?
it brought me to my blog:
the garbage truck came!
I've been here two weeks tomorrow, and this was the first time our garbage, and that of our neighbors, has been picked up in that time. I don't blame anyone in particular (except maybe the person who decided that the week before Mardi Gras was a good time to turn the responsibility of trash collection back to the city). It's just indicative of the state of things here: everything is a little bit more of a struggle, everything is a little bit more disorganized. I guess a lot more in some situations and in some areas.
The past few days, I'd been getting a bit anxious about the garbage, as I fear rodents. No walks at dusk for me. We'd read in the paper yesterday that the garbage issues were getting sorted out and that our area would have garbage picked up on Wednesday. But a little while ago, my mom came rushing into the house, yelling, "They're picking up the garbage!" I wasn't the only person rushing to the curb with an additional garbage bag.
I never thought the site of garbage trucks (yes, plural - one for each side of the street) would be so welcome. Our family stood in front of our house and cheered and clapped for the workers. And they gave us waves. Maybe the good that's come from the storm is that, with the little bit more struggle and disorganization, comes a little bit more thankfulness and closeness.
On Monday night, we went to Orpheus, Harry Connick Jr's parade. As MrMan slept or chilled, despite the loud bands and tractors pulling the floats, I couldn't help but think that the New Orleans half of the blood running through him must be very powerful. I could see that a few people were thrown off by my walking around with this baby. I even got a, "Good Lord! There's a baby in there!" and a, "Is that really a baby in there?" And as I bent down for beads, with him strapped to my chest, I understood why that half of his blood is so powerful: this city is an integral part of me.