Sweet Baby – Week 24

The storm has passed. Whatever crawled up Trombone’s adorable bum and polka’d incessantly, causing him to nap a total of one hour on Thursday and 40 minutes on Friday and fill the in-between-nap (can it even be called a nap?) times with a plaintive
“ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!” has moved elsewhere. (The day after this entry he got the hang of “mama” but good. Like other children I have observed, it’s “dadadada” when inquisitive and interested, “rarararara” when amused and “mamamamama” when tired & cranky.)

But the What to Expect in the 1st Year book puts babbling in the maybe column for 5 months old which means he is in the 97th percentile for babbling. (I fabricated this statistic) He is totally rocking the babble boat. He is babbletastic.

I know I will regret saying that. Check back in a year.

Here the baby is momentarily distracted from his non-stop-auctioneer-talk.

Anyway, the storm passed. Yesterday he napped normally again and last night he slept normally again and today, so far, including an atrocious morning diaper, has been perfectly normal.

What? You are surprised I mention bodily fluids? This is a BLOG written by a MOM – I have a cultural imperative to mention poop. And boobs. And drool.

Here the baby exhibits great excitement upon receiving his first Christmas present. Ever.

Last things first: There is a lot of drool. When he first started drooling, 2 months ago, we were all, “Ha – the book says he might get a drool rash, here, quick, wipe his chin so he doesn’t get a drool rash, har har har.” The other night after his bath, I was pointing out a sort of rash-like pattern on Trombone’s upper chest. “What do you think?” I asked Saint Aardvark, “do you think it’s excema?” (I am fond of diagnosing him myself, my faith in the medical profession being rather thin) “Hmm,” he replied, “maybe it’s a DROOL RASH.” And I realized: they weren’t kidding. There really is drool rash. When your baby soaks through a bib and the front of his shirt with his own drool, he will get a drool rash.

Here the baby chews on the nipple of an empty bottle (a nipple through which he will not drink, as it is suitable only for chewing) and is satisfied.

Boobs:
Yesterday, Trombone’s grandparents minded him while Saint Aardvark and I went downtown to buy Christmas presents. This not taking as long as anticipated, I spent the balance of my time trying on festive shirts for holiday events.

When I was pregnant and thinking about post-pregnancy, I devoted a lot of my addled thought to pants. Would I fit in my old pants? Would I be able to wear my larger pants until I could once again fit in my smaller pants? Should I buy more pants or wear the same pants every day until I could get to where I could wear the smaller pants again? Would I ever wear the smaller pants again?

You see why I didn’t get all my receiving blankets folded and colour-coded in time and why no one got a thank-you card until Trombone was almost old enough to write his own name. Pants pants pants.

5.5 months post partum, I can safely say that pants are not an issue. Over the years, my pant-size has fluctuated a fair bit so I can choose from my own closet from pants sized 8 – 14. I am Good For Pants.

The issue is shirts. I have always worn a Medium or Large sized shirt. Always. I could go into a store, buy several Medium or Large sized shirts and be assured that they would fit just fine. (Except for halter tops, which I cannot wear due to my very long neck and broad shoulders. In halter tops and strapless clothing items, I do resemble a giraffe. An albino giraffe. Anyway.)

These days, I am nursing the Very Hungry Baby several times a day and much as I struggle and grunt, I cannot tug any Medium sized and many Large sized shirts over my bosoms. (Oh yes, they are bosoms now.) My bosoms have rocketed me into Large/Extra Large territory. And did you know, there is also a section in most stores called Don’t Even Think About Trying This On, it’s Made for Pre-Pubescent-Styled 20-Somethings? I never noticed it before.

Yesterday I tried on shirts. Lots of them. Each took several minutes to wrestle into and several more to wrestle out of. I bruised my elbows on the walls of the too-small changeroom and felt, generally, like a Godzilla creature trapped in a shame closet. Eventually I found two shirts I liked and which liked me. The end.

PS: Dear friends with large bosoms,
How on earth do you find clothing that fits? And could someone explain to me why all the bras are made to support the giant bosoms but all the shirts are made to enclose the tiny bosoms?
I am quite distressed by this discovery.
All the best,
Cheesefairy

Meanwhile, the baby has almost perfected sitting up

and can raspberry, though we have no photos of this yet.

He continues to pursue my ever-elusive hair

and we continue his training in the ways of the suburban ninja.