Hairy ordeal

Rachel is a pretty hairy baby. She gets that from me, we think, although she seems to have slightly more hair than I did. We shall never really know though since mine wasn't measured. Everyone remembered me as a bald baby, but I so had hair--unless the baby in my baby book isn't me...

Me, in all my glory (note the hair)
Rachel, in all of hers

When people first meet Rachel they usually exclaim, "Look at all that hair!" and then they touch it because, let's face it, baby hair is one of the softest textures known to man. Rachel's hair is 1.5 inches long today. That happens to be over an inch longer than her dad's hair and he's already complaining about needing another haircut. I like him just the same with or without hair, but I really prefer his looks with hair--he just looks older when he combs and gels his hair, and by "older" I mean "not 14."

In fact, Rachel's hair is so long that we can put real barrettes in already. I still used corn syrup on this barrette because it kept sliding out of her hair, but that's because it's one of my barrettes and my hair is just a little thicker than Rachel's.


Oh, but the best part about being a hairy baby is her ear hair. Just like me, Rachel has hairy troll ears. I measured her ear hair today (no, it hasn't fallen off yet...yes, mine has) and it is half an inch long. When the Slades visited, we pointed out her ear hair to them and the up-coming Dr. Slade said, "Ah, yes, all babies have hairy ears," at which point he looked at her ear hair and exclaimed something like, "Holy cow! She has hairy ears!" We just bought some little barrettes for Rachel's hair today and I really think that we could clip them to her ear hair.


Her hair certainly is cute, but it does present some problems. The main one being that Rachel will innocuously raise her hand, rest it on her head, and close her fingers around a big fistful of hair. She will then decide that, perhaps, she will lower her hand in a jerky, uncontrolled fashion without opening her fingers. This produces a pitiful, yet blood curdling, plea for assistance. By the time I reach her (usually 1-5 seconds later) she is so frustrated that she is clenching both of her fists as tight as she can while trying to pull them close to her chest in the fetal position. I, then, have to pry her fingers apart while trying not to increase the force of her pull. I'm sure once she gains a greater sense of her movements she will realize that she can just let go of her hair herself.

The Best Medicine

Andrew came home last night and I started chatting up a storm. Let's be honest: my mom and brother came over for an hour yesterday, which was nice, but other than that I was alone with Rachel for 16 hours. Not that she's not good company...please see the previous post.

So, I was feeling better, having been on antibiotics for two days now. Apparently medication makes me happy because my charming husband said,

"Well, you're a lot more chipper," and after thinking for a few seconds added, "-er."

I'm chipperer when I'm on antibiotics. It couldn't have anything to do with my fever being gone, my head ache and muscle aches being gone, or my general feeling of wellness(ish), could it? Of course, that's due, in a large part, to the antibiotics.

I suppose I might get a little happier when on medication, but that's the point of it, right?

When I was in the hospital after having Rachel, our doctor put me on percaset, which is apparently a narcotic. Each time you are given such things in the hospital the nurses are supposed to ask you your name and birth date, both of which are conveniently located on your ID bracelet.

At around 4 am, a nurse came in to give me my second dose.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I grabbed my bracelet, turned it so I could read it and said, "Nancy...wait a minute...I knew that..."

I'm sure the nurse was like, "That's it! I'm halving her dose!"

It was 4 in the morning and I had just given birth, both of which may have contributed to my lack of brain power.

Even though I'm ditzy and sick, Andrew still finds me attractive. This morning I was feeding Rachel and Andrew walked over and kissed my forehead.

"You're so hot," he said, and then after considering he's been feeling me for fevers the last few days added, "And I don't mean temperature-wise."

See? He's charming. I haven't brushed my hair in days, I'm certainly not wearing any makeup, I'm encrusted in spit-up, and still he compliments me.

Maybe he's been sneaking my antibiotics. He's a little chipper...

I am Rachel, hear me roar!

Raptor Rachel

Rachel's really a good baby, but since I've been sick she has been a little more grumpy than usual. Mastitis makes breast milk taste saltier, and apparently she doesn't like it as much because we've started to go through a crying fit before she'll take the infected side. It's been...fun(-ish). Sorry, Rachel-girl, but if you want mommy to get better you have to do it.

So now before she'll eat we have to calm her down. It's a pretty tricky business. I can't wait until I'm better. Being a parent is hard enough. Being a parent and being sick is definitely not fun.

I've filled out more medical forms in the last few weeks than I have in my whole life up to July 20th. On Monday I had to take a postpartum depression quiz. One of the questions was, "Do you feel that having a baby interferes with your typical daily routine or your ability to get things done?"

Hmmm...let me think...

I put that down as a two out of three. The higher you rate it, apparently the more likely you are to be depressed. Now, I'm pretty sure I'm not depressed. I used to cry everyday but I don't anymore. I've been doing pretty good. However, I don't really have a typical daily routine yet. And I certainly don't have the routine I had before Rachel came along. As for getting things done, well...I've changed a lot more diapers and Andrew's done a lot more laundry as of late. I think eventually I'll get a "typical daily routine."

Another question I stumbled over was one that I filled out as I was doing paperwork for my mastitis appointment. "Do you feel abnormally tired?" Alright...I am exhausted. But that's normal, right? I'm more tired than I've ever been but I still marked that question a negative.

Sometimes those surveys are so confusing!

V is for volcano

Andrew's parents are in a cruise in Hawaii right now. Before they left, they were telling us about this one excursion where they would get off the cruiser, take a ski-lift thing to the top of a volcano and then ride bikes down.

"How do you get back?" Andrew asked.

I was like, "I guess you just board the ship again."

He's all, "No, like how do you get to the top?"

"You don't. That's the point of taking the lift up and riding the bikes down--limited effort."

"So," he said, cautiously, "You just stay at the bottom?"

"Yes, you just stay at the bottom." I said, wondering if he thought this was rocket science.

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" he asked.

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, they have to get out of the volcano somehow..."

And then I understood what he was getting at.

"Andrew," I said, trying hard not to laugh, "They aren't going down the inside of the volcano. They'll ride down the outside. The side like a mountain."

My husband is really smart. He's gotten a 4.0 every semester since we've been married, except this one (I guess we find having a new baby stressful or something. What, like its hard?).

My favorite part of this whole story is that Karen phoned him from Hawaii just to tease him about their being on a volcano!

Rachel Sucks: or, how my baby cured mastitis

We went to the pediatrician on Monday. Rachel is perfectly healthy. She has already gained almost a pound, putting her at 8 lbs, 3 oz. She's 20.5 inches long and is growing steadily. She's in the 50th percentile for both height and weight so you'd think we'd be able to find clothes that fit her but we can't. Oh well.

The doctor still wants me to wean her off the breast shield so he gave me a number for the lactation clinic. I phoned the warm line and when they called back, I said, "I have a question about nipple shields."

With this, the nurse launched into a well-rehearsed script, "A nipple shield is a small plastic barrier that..."

I let her drone on for a few minutes, listening to the pros and cons, before I interrupted her.

"Well, I was inverted so they put me on a nipple shield in the hospital. My baby is two weeks old and I want to know if I can get some help weaning her off of it."

"You could bring her in and we could try a few tricks with her."

"Are the tricks the same ones listed on the lactation website? Because I've tried those and she just hates it."

"Well, it shouldn't be a frustrating experience for you or baby. Have you tried taking the shield away and letting her suck on your bare breast?"

Have I tried taking it away? What kind of a question is that? I don't think I'll be going in to the clinic considering it costs $35. I don't want to spend $35 to hear, "Did you try taking it away?"

But perhaps I should have gone in because the very next day I woke up sick. I was all stuffed up and achy, but worst of all my breast was red and swollen and hot.

I spent the day having Rachel suck and pumping in between feedings. I put hot cloths on it. We also took a lot of naps. Finally, at 5 o'clock I phoned mommy. She came over and helped me take care of myself and Rachel. She brought me hot cloths, gave me ibuprofen, calmed down Rachel and helped her latch on, and put us both to bed. Andrew was working until midnight so it was nice to have my mom available to take care of us.

Andrew came home with a humidifier and he set that up in the bedroom. Rachel slept a lot better, which meant that I did, too.

When I woke up this morning I still felt pretty sick, but my fever was gone. Now that I've showered and fed Rachel 3 times I feel a lot better. We still have quite a bit of sucking to do before I'll be all better.

Who'd have thought breastfeeding could be so dangerous?

1:18 pm...so, after a hot compress and a nap, my fever is back. Sheesh-o-rams!

Belly Button Saga, the Epilogue

I'm here at work, sitting next to a pile of Far Side books. I casually opened one and saw, to my surprise, that Gary Larson had the same fears I did.

The doctor officially approved of Rachel's belly button today, so it's all over. We have a real, belly-buttoned daughter who is completely out of the risk zone for navel explosions.

Cousins

Six little cousins (and me)

Rachel met a lot of new people today. We went to church and everyone wanted to take a peak at her, of course, but more importantly she met five of her cousins (technically only four since she'd met Rosie previously). It was pretty stressful for mom and dad, actually. We're not quite used to having that many kids in the house and we certainly were nervous about having that many kids around Rachel. I kept having to remind myself that a lot of children survive older siblings...so Rachel should be able to survive a few cousins.

She did.

This picture was not taken today. It's from July 25th.
Matthew and Rachel
Gettin' some loves from Andrew and Olivia

Gentle does it...
Eeek! Careful of the soft spot!
Please can I touch her nose, mom?
Sabrina wondering if this baby ever wakes up

Somehow Rachel managed to sleep through it all. She really just sleeps like her dad. Andrew and I went to dinner my parent's house tonight. After dinner I went for a walk with my mom and Josie while Andrew had a nap with the baby. Characteristically, Andrew fell deep asleep quickly and, equally characteristically, my dad then went to steal away the baby from Andrew.

Before taking the baby, however, he "woke" Andrew to ask him if it was alright. Andrew moaned his agreement, my dad took the baby and Andrew went "back" to sleep.

When I came back from the walk I went to wake Andrew up. I put my hand on his chest and gently shook him, "Wake up, Andrew..." I said.

He started grasping at his chest frantically saying, "Baby, baby, baby, baby..."

"My dad has the baby."

"Oh, how come?" Now that he knew the baby was safe his unconscious allowed him to slip back into deep sleep. Waking these two up is the bane of my existence!

"Because he took her."

No response.

"Andrew, wake up," I said, shaking his shoulders.

And what do you think he did?

"Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby..." while grasping around at the air above his chest.

"Andrew, the baby is fine. Wake up!"

He's actually become a lot easier to wake up. I'm not sure if it is parenthood or the number of times he's smacked his head on the dresser (we're at three now--the first time he smacked it on the hard wood, fell off the bed and still asked for "10 more minutes"--we now keep a pillow stuffed between the bed and the dresser), but at least he's easier to wake up!

Sounds like a plan

Before Rachel was born, I washed all the clothes that got handed down from the twins. This included at least a dozen pairs of little baby socks. After washing them that one time I decided it was nuts to continue that way. We were picking baby socks out of the sleeves of our shirts and cuffs of our pants for days.

So, we purchased a little mesh bag with a zipper that could easily be washed and dried with little baby socks and other itty-bitty items.

Yesterday I gathered up all of her dirty socks, my breast pads, and other like items, put them into the mesh bag and proceeded to put a load of clothes in to wash.

We dried the clothes last night because we haven't been using the air conditioning lately and it's just too hot to run the dryer during the day. This morning I went to get the clothes out of the dryer. I opened up the door and, to my surprise, a baby sock fell out.

"Hmmm," I thought, "I must have missed one."

I pulled out the mesh bag. It was completely empty. I had neglected to zip it up. My perfect plan had failed.

Rachel and I have therefore spent the morning digging through big people clothes trying to find every last little person sock. No small task, and Rachel really wasn't all too helpful since she kept wanting my undivided attention.

One sock is still M.I.A., so Andrew, if you're at school on Monday and someone hands you a baby sock, be sure to bring it home with you...

Next time I'll remember to zip the zipper!

Misunderstandings

Last night Andrew was working and he saw this kid in his ward who used to tease him. Apparently the mission changed this kid because he was congenial and said to Andrew,

"Hey, how's it going? I heard your wife's pregnant."

"Yeah, she was."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

Andrew stared at the kid, blinking at him while trying to understand what he was saying. The kid was staring back looking sorry he had brought anything up.

Finally Andrew broke the silence, "She already had the baby."

"Oh, good! I thought..."

Well, that was an awkward moment, but no more awkward than my phone call this afternoon.

"Hello, sweetie," said the lady on the phone, "Is your mommy home?"

Long pause. The last time anyone mistook me for a child on the phone was when we lived in Jordan. My horrendous attempt to explain that I didn't speak Arabic was mistaken as babbling and the caller asked, "Mama, baba?" to which I replied curtly, "Ana mama." The caller said something that sounded apologetic and then hung up.

"Ummm...I'm the mom..." I couldn't think of who would be calling and asking if my mommy was home since usually I only get phone calls from my family or people in my ward--all of whom know that I have a rather high pitched voice and only have a two week old daughter who is not yet capable of answering the phone.

"You're the mom?" the caller verified, "Okay, well, I'm just calling to confirm Rachel's appointment for Monday."

Right, well...at least now everyone is clear that we have a baby and I'm the mom.

Now we just have to wonder about the father. Andrew and I received an invitation for a wedding reception for another kid in Andrew's ward. He's my friend, too, since we all went to high school together, but he's known Andrew a lot longer. We had to wonder, then, when the envelope was addressed to "Kevin and Nancy Heiss." Who's Kevin?

End of the Belly Button Saga

This morning when I picked Rachel up there was something hard on her back. I knew what it was instantly: her umbilical cord.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed. I had been hoping for something more...what's the word...dramatic. Like, I think it would have been better if it had fallen off while Andrew was either changing her diaper or giving her a bath. Yes, yes, that would have been good.

Falling off in the dead of the night is a little anticlimactic, don't you agree?

Andrew's reaction this morning was priceless though. He's just so good at shuddering. And he asked a question I didn't expect him to ask, although I wouldn't have put it past him.

"Is it going to be an innie or an outie? Is it genetic or just the way they cut..." he stopped and looked at me; I was looking at him incredulously.

I had just told him the story of David asking the same question in March. He even laughed at what a silly question it was when I told him the story and yet asked it himself 4 months later. Priceless.

So now, as Andrew would say, Rachel is all Rachel...there's no vestige of mommy left on her anywhere. The cord was pretty much hers the entire time, but I'm certainly glad she's hit this milestone of life. It was kind of gross to have it sticking out of her tummy.

It was sitting on the computer desk right now and I asked Andrew what we should do with it.

"Probably just throw it away," he said.

I was thinking we could bury it and plant a tree to mark the spot or something like they do in Jamaica, but throwing it away was easier.

I grabbed the remaining cord and said, "Okay, I'm throwing it away."

No sooner had I said those words and the cord landed at the bottom of the trash can when Rachel, who was lying on my lap, started caterwauling. It is for her sake we've included the following picture:


Now our little girl is all grown up and sporting a belly button. It's still rather gross-looking, but a belly button nonetheless.

Andrew will probably remind her that this is a big part of growing up...he likes to do that from time to time. The other day (let's see, yesterday?) he was changing her diaper and I could hear him talking to her, saying:

"Now, Rachel, don't cry. 11-day old girls don't cry when they're getting their diapers changed."

He's changing her right now and I'm straining to hear if he's telling her that girls with belly buttons don't cry...