Dispatch From Week Two

I had a nightmare. I ran into my breasts in a dark alley and they beat me up and stole all my candy, then ran laughing into the night. Havoc-wreakers! It has been a challenge to regain my balance after so many months trying to keep my posture straight with a giant belly; suddenly I am top heavy like a, like a, well, like an adult movie actress. The leopard-print bra doesn’t help, probably. Oh – didn’t you know? Is there anyone I had not yet told about the leopard-print bra? Stylish, understated (except for the leopard-print part…) and so very comfortable. And though it may look wussy to those of you who may be more naturally endowed than I am, it comes in “DoublePlus” sizes too. How can that be bad? Exactly. DoublePlusGood.

OK let’s stop thinking about my breasts now.

Trombone continues to eat, sleep, poop and pee his way through life. I am pretty much doing the same. But I shower occasionally, too.

The thing no one told me about babies is that when they sleep, they make faces. At 11 days old, Trombone is too young to be smiling, frowning or giving me the evil eye. But when he is in that blissed-out milk-fed REM sleep, his little face does its exercises and we catch a glimpse of what he will look like in a couple of months when he really is smiling. This little preview makes up for the unholy screams that leave the child’s mouth any time (approx 10x a day) his genitals are exposed for cleaning & re-wrapping. Good God! I’m not going to cut it off, l’il Freud – I just want to clean it!

I call this one “Come and get it, Stephen Harper”

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