Sunday drivin'

(Hehe - serious business this!)

There's a dog on the front dash, and if you smack it or pull its ears, it honks. Very funny ... except our actual dogs don't quite do the same thing, though he gives it a go.

We also learned Jess is not a good dog to learn to 'pat' the other day ... said pat ended up with Jess sitting very patiently while Cuinn ripped out a handful of her fur. Woops. He can't get a grip on Jack, so well stick with patting him for the moment.

Mmmm peaches

I'll leave it to you to wonder how much of it I was covered in as well.

A blog is a blog is a blog

Does it still count as blogging if I do a post saying I've got nothing to say?

OK, I guess I haven't got nothing to say, but not much. I can give it to you in bullet points if you want? Or even if you don't, tomato, tomater.

- I'm going to see my OBGYN this afternoon because something is screwed up with my plumbing post pregnancy (I know. WAY too much information. Don't you love it? It's why you keep coming back, I'm sure). I'm really not that bothered about what he may or may not surmise the problem is, just so long as he doesn't do a scan and find a kid. That'd be a bit problematic.

- Cuinn has decided that he hates getting his face washed in the bath. One minute he couldn't care less, the next a glimpse of his little ginger personality comes out and he decides he hates it. Awesome. He's also found his bits and thinks these are hilarious to yank in all directions. AND he's decided that nappies full of poo are the devil's work, and goes stinkers (hehe) as soon as he fills one. 'tis a pain in the ass (again, hehe) when said nappy filling occurs during his sleeps because he wakes up and demands to be changed and figures that since he's up he'd like to have a play please, and then since his sleep was cut short and he had a play, he fully intends to be grumpy and a little toad to put back to bed again. Huh.

- The cat keeps puking on quilts. You may have noticed that it has not been sunny lately. It's hard to get quilts dry in the pouring rain. It is also cold at night without quilts.

- My power bill was ENORMOUS this month. Seriously. Enormous. Gave me a heart attack.

- I'd love if the $1,500 initiative vis a vis insulation grants for homeowners can be retrospective. I expect not. Stupid insulation that we put in a year ago when there were no grants. We could always put more in under the floor I guess. I also wonder if the $1,300 bill we had for the car last month could be classed as 'insulation'? That'd be handy.

- I've started doing some work from home. My brain thinks it's the. best. thing. ever. Or, at least, it will once it stops wondering what on earth I'm trying to do to it after allowing it to vegetate for 6 months.

- Lovely natural coloured clothing for Cuinn seemed like a good idea until I started giving him pumpkin. Tried getting pumpkin out of what are effectively white clothes? Nailing them with NapiSan works, as long as I don't think about how much effort I put into organic clothing and why.

- My feet are cold.

- The dog appears to have dug a hole somewhere in the yard. I can tell by the mound of dirt on her nose.

That about covers it.

Picture fest

It's been swell, but let's not do it again

Just for the record, I'd be sitting in Cuba or wherever the hell with the 10 mill too.

But, since I'm not, back to business.

3. Month. Jabs. Are. Vile.

I. Was. Up. All. Night.

Well, near enough. Put it this way, instead of counting the number of times Cuinn woke up, it's easier to count the number of times I got to catch some sleep. 3, in case you were wondering. I even got a 2 hour stretch one of those times. Awesome. The next kid isn't being vaccinated (yes it is).

The only real way I can make him more comfortable too is to load him up to the eyeballs with Pamol ... except he has an unreasonable hate on for the pink stuff (seriously, it tastes like strawberry lollies - what's not to like? Strange child), so I get an estimated half dose into him, and wear the other half. Very messy business, and heaven knows if what small amount I do get into him has any effect whatsoever. Thankfully, cuddles seem to be gratefully received, and although they don't make him feel better, they make him feel better if you know what I mean.

Here's hoping the next lot of jabs (next month - BLAH!) are a little less vicious. And thank heavens he has his Jeero (Ugly Doll - we're so getting more of those!) to talk to, so he can work through some of the psychological damage I've done to him.

Better photos of the duds, bad angles for the little dude

Argh, jabs!

Cuinn has his 3 month (I've never been good at maths - he turns 4 months on the 23rd. Of course, technically it's his fault that I'm neglectful because when we did go in for them at around 12 weeks he was running a temperature so we had to abort the mission) jabs this morning. Aside from a miserable baby (medical professionals seem to be of the opinion that grizzles should last for around a day. Other mums say a week. I know what I'm expecting based on that), it's vile holding your baby down so someone can hurt him. Poor baby boy.

I took these this morning (I really should learn to take better photos), before I chopped his finger trying to trim his little talons. Those things grow spectacularly fast, and unfortunately, you usually notice that they're too long once he's raked them down your face. Anyway, obviously today is destined to be a bad day for babies. Although, considering all he did was grunt and scowl at me, apparently the chopping was more traumatic for me than him. Still, chopping is bad.

(Good knitting Grannie!)

Elmo is not my baby's father

Hehe.

(OK, I'm done now)

Dexter is not my baby's father

Just as well really.

The kid, he drools

The surprise is in exactly how much he drools. It's like someone has turned a tap on in there.

It started out harmlessly enough where we had a few bibs and we managed to cycle them every other day, but it's gotten to a point where there aren't enough bibs in the world to counter the flood. Weeell, there aren't enough bibs in our world anyway. Nowhere near enough bibs. I need to spend a lot of money on bibs.

Another thing I've learned is that dribble bibs work just fine - if you intend to change them every 10 minutes. Which I don't. Do not be fooled into buying dribble bibs for dribbles. Start with the heavy machinery I tell you - 10 inch thick towelling all the way baby, and preferably find a bib as big as the kid.

In fact, maybe I should just roll him up in a towel ...

In case anyone was in any doubt, we labelled him

(Excellent shopping Uncle Dave)

Damian Lewis is not my baby's father

Really.

Growing much?

We had our Plunket check today.

Drum roll please ....

Since their last visit on 23rd April, Cuinn has put on just over 800 grams (!!) and grown 2.5cm.

Way to go kid!

Coolest. Little. Dude. EVER.

(There have been a few awesome (and I mean 'awesome' in the sense of - how can my kid make that much poo??) nappy explosions recently, so there seems to be a dog permanently attached to his butt just now)

And, on the subject of cool, hel-lo ...

Wicked. When a kid is born a ginger, there is always the potential for disaster. Lucky for Cuinn, he has uncles Dave and Stu on the case, cos they seem to have a pretty good handle on things. And, if all else fails, apparently he's going to be doing Judo later on. Just in case.

Aaannd, if you weren't already impressed, there's more ...

My t-shirt from Ponsonby

Cuinn's onesie from Chicago. Hehe.

Ralph Malph is not my baby's father

My time machine is broken.

Josh Homme is not my baby's father

In case you were wondering.

Awesome

One thing I've discovered since Cuinn has started doing stuff other than hanging out being a newborn, is that you really do wish you could keep a video camera trained on him at all times because you can just never be quick enough with a camera, and the comedy moments are plenty.

Cuinn has started watching everything we eat like a hawk and yesterday, Al was sitting with Cuinn on his knee, having a cup of tea and chocolate brownie. Cuinn was studying the brownie intently, and Al was organising a great pile of torn-out-of-magazines recipes and then he (Cuinn) just did an open mouthed face dive onto the brownie. Pure gold. I'm not sure whether it was the look on Cuinn's face when he was foiled (the open mouth was probably a fluke, but I doubt the brownie-dive was - he's making a habit of trying to grab whatever we've got, and there was serious mess last night when he tried to grab a spoonful of baby rice out of my hand, apparently to hasten the feeding process), or Al's that Cuinn had goobered on his brownie that was more hilarious - it was pretty much a toss up.

I find his little developmental steps absolutely fascinating, and every day he seems to stretch himself that little bit further. One day he's reaching for something, the next he's grabbing it and shoving it in his gob, then suddenly he's passing it from one hand to the next and then shoving it in his gob . He's so incredible, and I'm so glad that I'm not missing any of it.

Last night I was playing on the floor with him in front of the fire, and I had his lion puppet next to him to encourage rolling (he's not far off going right over, but has a little way to go I think - he gets right up on his shoulder, completely on his side, but hasn't quite gotten used to being up there enough to push it to the next level), and he was rolling to the side, grabbing puppet and rolling back onto his back with it and shoving it in his gob. But, at one point, he really took me by surprise. I'd put puppet out to the side, but slightly up so he had to turn his head to see puppet properly and line it up - which he did, except I'd put it a bit too out of his reach. Watching him was really incredible. He rolled, turned his head, made a grab for puppet, couldn't reach, rolled back onto his back, scooted himself backwards, closer to puppet, with his feet, rolled back, grabbed it and yes, shoved it in his gob. Surely at this point he can't be thinking things like that through (??), but I was so proud of him, our clever wee man.

He's developing a real sense of fun too, and it's gorgeous. His new thing is when one of us is holding him and the other goes to give him a kiss, he ducks his head, hides it in a shoulder all faux coy-like and either giggles, or just peeks out and either way he gives us a huge gummy grin. He's also learning about games, and gets so excited and squeals and giggles and blows bubbles when one is underway.

The kid is very cool. But, the kid also has hiccups by the sounds of it through the monitor, and is getting very pissy indeed, so I've got to abandon my gushing till next time. So much for 'hiccups don't both him at all' (my midwife). Hiccups do bother him, quite a lot.

David Caruso is not my baby's father

Just so you know.

(Yes, yes, I know. It's an old photo of the kid (almost as old as the photos get in fact), but it's the inspiration behind the Who's Your Daddy series that will roll out over the next week. Tee hee. I have far too much spare time these days)

Hmmm

I'm trying to add a hit counter, out of pure curiosity to see if I'm talking mostly to myself here, except I think I've bollocksed it up because it seems to be counting every time I do something. I think. Stupid thing. Bah. I'll play some more tomorrow. For now, the husband has just plonked a bowl of fabulous minestrone soup in front of my nose (I love not being the one who cooks in our house) that demands my full attention.

Toasty baby

In his new romper suit and off for a walk, toasty warm! Thanks Aunty Lynn!! (He came back with warm hands even. I don't think that kid has has warm hands since he was born)

Excuse the weird facial expression. He hates baby jail - aka car seats, buggies, anything that keeps him even remotely restrained.

Bite me, Plunket

If at any point in the last couple of weeks Al and I had stopped and had the slightest pause over whether Plunket may or may not be right about the whole solids thing, we shall cease to worry henceforth. Actually, we haven't (worried) at all (even a little bit), but it was all well and truly confirmed for us yesterday. I toddled off to coffee group in the morning, as I do of a Wednesday, and by the time I got home Cuinn was completely and utterly smashed. Asleep on his feet as it were. K-n-a-c-k-e-r-e-d. Not in a good frame of mind for lunch. So I put him to bed with a boob feed, and no solids (he normally has apples at lunch. I really should find some vege recipes. He's such a little ginger. Loooves sweets). No harm, no foul, he didn't seem to miss them. Until we sat down for dinner. In the time it took Al to set the fire, Cuinn had, no exaggeration at all inhaled 4 teaspoons of apple and there wasn't even any on his bib (we skipped the baby rice in favour of using the apples I'd defrosted for lunch). Or his face. And I swear that if the kid could talk, he'd have echoed the immortal words of his Uncle Alex, once uttered in great horror at a restaurant "Is that it?". Poor kid. No more skipping solids at lunch, or any time really. We're committed.

And now, I feel the need for a cup of tea and some cake and bless, the husband is preparing same. I feel fabulous today. I'm working on something which is hilarious and keeping me amused for the moment. It's probably only hilarious for me of course, so if it turns out that I'm definitely alone in the hilarity just call me a psychiatrist and be done with it, but of course, also be cheerful that you got two blog posts in a row.

(Damn. There are drawbacks to the husband making me morning tea. I always get little pieces of cake. I much prefer big pieces of cake)

I can haz some sleepz? No LOLZ.

I'm going to start off though by admitting, to myself as much as anything, that GAH! I've become that Mum who has nothing to talk about except her kid. How utterly depressing - except for the enormous YAY! of course that I have the kid that means that I have nothing else to talk about except for him because that's awesome. But really, I do need to do something about it. I need a hobby. Or something. I'd learn to knit, except Grannie does that already and it'd just be rude to do her out of a job. Heh. Shopping isn't a spectacularly good idea due to the whole complete lack of money thing. Poop. And I hate gardening so I'm not doing that. Maybe I should collect stuff? Bake ware or something. I love to bake and it's cheaper than handbags (although I have my eye on this awesome bag at ... oops). Or ... Pass. I love to blog, except I'm getting boring, and because I know I'm getting boring I'm losing my mojo - hence the posting regularity of late. Meh, I'm sure there's something completely perfect that'll keep my mind from shrinking to shrunk completely, it's just putting my finger on it. We'll talk about this more at a later date.

Anyway. There is a slightly more pressing issue. Sleep. Or, more particularly, the lack thereof. Which actually, when you think about it, probably isn't helping the restlessness created by the above. And it's important to note that I'm less looking for a solution (the kid is firmly in control with this one. More particularly, the kid's stomach is), and more whinging just cos I can.

We were making steady, delicious progress on the regularity of night waking and day feeding (awesome - the husband just pointed a rather stinky kid butt at me, and all he got for his troubles was an encouraging smile from me (which was not at all what he was after), because Cuinn hasn't filled his nappy for 2 days and I don't want a bar of whatever he's done now. Bless him, the husband has dutifully headed back in the direction of the change table, although I'm cringing a bit right this second because a "AAARRGGH! DON'T PUT YOUR FEET IN IT!" has just rung out down the hall) regularity front until said steady, delicious progress came undone completely. Cuinn, man-mountain-to-be that he is, decided that yes, yes it was all very well and good for mummy to be getting a little bit of rest and all that, and she likely was feeling quite cheerful about making some progress towards dropping a night feed or two but screw it, he's hungry (and no doubt in about 15 years 3 night feeds is going to translate into a sack of potatoes and 10 loaves of bread every other day too).

Heaven knows how we managed to make the progress we did over the last few weeks when it was undone just like that, but such is life with a baby apparently (I imagine I'll get used to the curve balls and learn to just sit back and accept them when they happen ... oh ... never). I'd started giving Cuinn small amounts of solids at around the 8-9 week mark, but got beaten around the head by Plunket with all manner of dire warnings of whatever in relation to giving solids too early, so I tried to wait it out until the recommended 6 month mark, or at the very least 4 months which is vaguely acceptable apparently (they tell you that with a stern look and a scowl though, so apparently it's only very vaguely acceptable). Buuut, it didn't work out so they can just scowl at me and be done with it next visit. The kid was down to feeds every hour at some points during the day, and every couple of hours at night, and when I finally decided to ignore Plunket and re-presented his nibs with solids, he was literally launching himself onto the spoonsful of apple at lunch time and now, in only about 2 weeks, he's reaching up and shoving my hand holding the spoon towards his gob (of course, as excellent as that is, on the flip side, he's also discovered it's funny to try and blow bubbles while he has a mouthful of apple, but that's another tale of chaos altogether. And, admittedly, it's a lot messier when he spits baby rice).

We have maintained a level of progress I guess on the night feed front so it's not all terribleness of the highest order - really we took 2 steps forward and 1 step backwards, so we're still better off overall, but it's still a bit ... ye gads ish. We went from 1 night feed ramping up to 4 (yes, it was terribly pleasant), back down to 1, then reverting to 2-3 again. I think it'd be easier if there was a pattern to it (I think) but there really isn't - one minute I think we're making wicked progress, and then wham. Progress go bye bye. And, it's not just that I get excited over one night of dropping a feed - he was actually shifting his feeds by about half an hour a night over a period of time. His 10pm feed went to 10.30pm, then 11pm, then 12, then 12.30 and so on pushing out his 4-5am feed altogether to wake up time and his 2am ish feed became 2.30am, then 3am and so on and so forth more or less until he just had the one feed at about 1am ish with his wake up at 6am ish, like in the early days. But then, of course, wham, as I said. Bollocks.

I think the trick is to just give up feeling gutted about the whole thing, and go with the flow. And get a hobby as above to assist with the fact that I'm the most non go with the flow type on the planet of course. Could be interesting.

And now, I'm going to post this without proofing it because I'm amazed I got this far and if I spend the time proofing the whinge, it'll be another week before you see confirmation that I am in fact alive and kicking.

A little conversation I had this morning went something like this

Me, picking up my special telephone,

Ring ring, ring ring ...

Stretchmarks "HELLooo?"

Me "Um, hello. Stretchmarks?"

Stretchmarks "That's me"

Me "I just have a little question ..."

Stretchmarks "Talk to a brother" (because seriously, if stretchmarks were people, they wouldn't be chicks)

Me "Weeell ... I'm just wondering ... isn't the normal order of things to get stretchmarks during the pregnancy, and not 3 months after?"

Stretchmarks "Mwah hahahaha!"

Me "It's not funny"

Stretchmarks "It is a bit"

Me "Nope"

Stretchmarks "Just a little bit?"

Me "Nope"

Stretchmarks "You're no fun"

Me "Nope"

Stretchmarks "Apparently I have a unique sense of humour"

Me "Apparently you do"

Stretchmarks "Ah well. Catchya later!!"

Me "No doubt"

Quick pics

Tummy time progress!

Photo comparison

A bit different, no?

Coming home.



About 2 days ago.



At the moment, he's tracking almost gram for gram and centimetre for centimetre, Al's growth as a baby.

Ground Zero

By far the coolest thing Cuinn has done so for in his wee short life, though he didn't appreciate the significance of it at all, was revisit Fertility Plus and take the nurses and lab people afternoon tea. Chocolate brownies most importantly because that's what we took them the day of egg collection a year ago, and a madeira cake because it's my favourite and oddly, not everyone is a chocolate brownie person so you need to cater for them also (I know. I don't understand it either, but it is what it is). If they're not madeira people either, then they deserve to starve though.

Anyway. It felt huge walking down the corridor with my son in my arms, and to see couples sitting where we had sat a year ago, hoping for the result that we got and have, I felt like the luckiest person in the world. Even if Cuinn did throw up down my neck about 10 seconds later.

We also got to see and spend time with the embryologist who actually made him, and nurtured our other embryos through to freezing and although it was a team effort getting from cycle to embryo transfer, actually introducing him to the person who selected the egg and sperm that resulted in our particular baby who has just worked out how to blow raspberries was just awesome. I could blather half my life and still not nail the words that would accurately express how it felt. Or even give a good indication.

Cuinn also got to have a good cuddle with the nurse who oversaw our cycle who will always be special to us, and make gorgeous eyes at all the other nurses on the floor who came into the room to see him, and a second lab person.

And, to the very elderly gentleman who was sitting in the main foyer of the hospital, who watched me stop and kiss the top of Cuinn's head just because I could and then said to me "Look after him. And love him." - I will. I promise.