Lookit that face. She used to be the cutest thing going at our house.
Long before the days of Aisha, our little pup Nakita had the rule of the roost. She had three beds in the house, a million balls and squeak toys, and the undivided attention of all and any who visited. Our house rule was “please acknowledge the dog,” not because she was that important, but because she wouldn’t quit barking at visitors unless she received a rub.
When I was in the last days of being pregnant, Nakita took to lying at or on my belly, which I thought was pretty cute, and I hoped that she would be as attentive once the baby arrived.
And then the baby arrived.
Once the star of the house, Nakita was abruptly usurped as the new pink, wriggling, pooping thing quickly became top dog. Our poor little fuzzball couldn’t understand why, as with other small squeaky things in the house, she wasn’t allowed to chew on, drag or lick it. Loving words of affection and tummy rubs became “Nakita, no!” or “Stop that” and gentle shoves away when she got too close to the mysterious being. Continue reading
Aisha smizing. She’s sexy and she knows it.
When Aisha was born, she was a wee thing of just over six pounds. In June, at her six-month checkup, the paediatrician informed me that she weighed 18 lb 9oz. She’d gone from being in the 20th percentile for both height and weight in her fourth month, to the 90th percentile for weight (and only 10th in height – womp, womp).
When I relaid the information to our home care nurse, her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my! Babies are supposed to triple their birth weights by about one year of age…she’s already past that.”
I’m not entirely surprised. Last week I wrote about her healthy appetite. Her current love of all things edible means she’ll likely be a Chunky McButtons well into toddler-hood. Continue reading
My big girl! Peanut’s been busy growing, y’all…
Quite a lot happens when you’re away from the blog. My hiatus wasn’t about anything more than wanting to spend some serious loving-up time with the girl and not blogging about every little adorable thing that she was doing every moment of the day. That’s what mommy-bloggers do (not that there’s anything wrong with that); there are a glut of cute blogs out there showcasing baby beans sporting hilariously sweet micro-fashion and doing hilariously sweet (and sometimes disgustingly funny) things.
When I found out about Peanut’s Trisomy 21 diagnosis, I wanted this blog to be a resource to other parents who might be going through the same thing. But once she was born, I found that, for the most part, she more more “typical” than not…she didn’t have any major health or feeding issues, her growth and development were on track, and she ate, slept and pooped like any other kid. Down Syndrome really didn’t come into play, and I felt as though the blog wasn’t serving its original purpose.
So I stopped blogging. Continue reading
Lookit that face. Does this look like a little boy to you?
I suppose that because I am her mother, I can absolutely see that Peanut is a little girl. However, when I dress her in gender-neutral colours – green, yellow or grey in particular – people have a hard time ascertaining whether she’s male or female.
I don’t really ascribe to the pink for girls/blue for boys ideal; in fact, pink is not really a colour I like, and I have very little of it (one or two items, max) in my own wardrobe. Peanut happens to look good in it – and while I frequently dress her in whatever pink items she happens to own, I tend to buy clothing in other colours.
It’s hard, though, finding lovely little girls’ clothes that don’t look as though they lost a fight with a bottle of Pepto Bismol. And if the items aren’t pink, they’re ruffled, frilled and ruched to within an inch of their lives. What is the deal with tutus for little girls? And headbands with bows? And sequins? Why?
I put the wee one in a hoodie and jeans the other day, and my mother squawked that I was dressing the child like a thug. I thought she looked positively adorable! She’s usually in pants or a sleeper, anyway, so I wasn’t quite sure what the fuss was about. Continue reading
The way I were – fuzzy, but fit.
So, uh…I hate my post-partum body.
Two months and five days after having had Peanut, I am mostly back to my original size, but the body I once had (and loved) is a lumpy, misshapen shadow of its former self.
Where do I begin? I haven’t any stretch marks, but my stomach looks like a deflated black balloon, sagging and dark after having been stretched and distended for the better part of nine months. My thighs, once strangers, now chafe and rub like two sticks making a fire. And at least once or twice a week, someone comments on how much wider my hips have become. While I have never been busty, I loved my pre-baby A-cups (and my A+ cups during), but in such a short span of time, regular pumping/hand-expressing have already taken their toll. Once firm and perky, my feeders are now kind of squishy and a little bit sad-looking.
Nothing fits. I still can’t squeeze into my clothes pre-Aisha, but all of my pregnant-sized attire is either too big or too loose. My c-section scar alternately throbs and stings, so anything that fits at my waist or lower is out.
But it’s not just the *visible* after-effects of pregnancy that have me down. Continue reading