1. So apparently Hectate is a way back contact of a number of people, including Noizangel & her maid of honour Mo. Given that it's been a few years since my last big coincidence hurricane, I should've seen this one coming.

Although I am being replaced in second semester by my own highschool yearbook supervisor. So maybe I just stopped paying attention to the storm.

our lil pumkin, wearing a gift from his fairy gothmother Stacy.
if you'll remember, she's the one who first danced in the whirlwind.

2. Blake & I had our first dance today. It was to "Father" by Danzig. No, there was no particular reason for this selection - I don't even like Danzig. But it was there. So we danced.

He really, really likes the lights in the ceiling when we spin around. When we finish a song, he goggles like - well, there's no metaphor that fits. He googles like a bright, curious newborn, who's turned on by the contrast of light & dark. There's nothing like the look on his face when we stop dipping & lunging.

As if that wasn't enough, I like knowing that I haven't lost my rhythm with motherhood. I don't know that I'm a good dancer exactly, but I do know that I'm no worse than I used to be.

3. One of the things we talked about while I was in labour (if you could characterize any exchange as conversation rather than distraction) was that there was a big beautiful full moon the whole night I worked to push the Sprout into the big bright n' dry. This struck me as extremely funny when I finally got my nitrous oxide. "Ah, my werewolf baby," I said between contractions.

In a few hours I had gone beyond any pain relief afforded by the nitrous, and I had taken to chewing on the Boy's wrist when the contractions peaked. I was so out of it by then that when I came back into myself after one bad wave, I found myself wondering why I was trying to eat the Boy's watch right off his arm.

"I'm sorry. It must be my werewolf baby," I quipped tiredly. Pixie thought that was funny.

Most newborns come into this world with a varying degree of fine dark hair called lanugo all over their bodies. Blake was lightly blessed with this stuff, most noticeably on the backs of his shoulders, on the tips of his ears, and where his sideburns might be in 16 years or so. I always smiled when I saw his little hairy ears. He is my werewolf baby.

But now that hair is almost gone. I guess Loftwyr was right - he doesn't show any of the signs. Yet.

grrrr.

My morning of independence:

This has been a weird 16 hours or so. Scout went home yesterday before dinner, thus ending our time with auntie au pairs. After dinner, the Boy went to get some photos of the Sprout developed & my mom went to choir practice. Nic, predictably, was AWOL. My dad was around, but he was getting ready to go to work at 8 p.m. I was under the gun to finish my welfare application, as we'd finally got my record of employment yesterday, so I was trying to answer a series of highly detailed questions while praying that my dad's crappy connection would hold.

(Brief R.O.E. digression: I finally got it 20 days after my due date. The dumb b*tches at the Board "forgot" to mail it within the legally mandated 5 days, so we all had to go to Mississauga & I ended up nursing the Sprout in a Human Resources Canada parking Lot while the Boy ran in for forms. And again: dumb b*tches.)

Unfortunately for me, the Sprout was putting on his cranky pants. He very rarely gets cranky - maybe 3 or 4 hours total in the day - but evenings are his worst times, and he was nigh-inconsolable. He wasn't hungry, although he really wanted to suck at my typing fingers. We compromised: I held him up to my face & he sucked avidly at the end of my nose (which he quite enjoys). Have you ever tried to fill out a delicate welfare application on an unreliable computer while a cranky newborn sucks at the middle of your face and pulls away to wail every few seconds?

The really funny thing is that I found it incredibly endearing. I love it when he's difficult, as long as there's somebody to help me. My dad eventually took him away (the man loves a challenge) and put off his departure by an hour until my application was in & Blake was well & truly sleeping. Then it was just the two of us.

We've never been totally alone together. It was short-lived, though. The Boy walked in 20 minutes after it began to a postcard-perfect scene; Blake curled in my sweatshirted arms like a revisionist creche. We played around with him for another hour, then woke him for a feeding. (Feedings are going SO WELL now that I can't believe it. So much of my "make the baby thrive" stress has simply evaporated...leaving behind a hundred other stresses, but that's okay. I'm used to those ones.)

Six hours later I heard some cheeping from the cradle. Yes. I woke up SIX HOURS LATER to a totally pacific baby. We had a huge feeding (for which my body was pathetically grateful) and then he went down for another 3 hours. At nine the Boy left for campus, and the true period of independence began. Blake was a dream, even when he had to hang out in the bathroom while momma took a shower. He also didn't mind when momma ate her breakfast while she nursed, and dropped the occasional grain of lukewarm rice on his head.

I think I can do this motherhood thing. I really do.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/19/2003 06:06:00 p.m.