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. Read more
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. Read more
Apple of my eye.
Peanut is now about 10, 10 and a half pounds, and isn’t quite as easy to cradle her in my arms as it once was. When she was a six- or seven-pounder, I would hold her close and wrap her tightly in this marled grey sweater that I wear around the house.
The other day I was trying to get her to sleep; she’s quite squirmy now and wriggles a lot before nodding off. Just as her eyelids began to droop, I pulled the sweater around her and started rocking her slowly. I thought I detected a small smile (becoming more frequent these days), and it gave me a chuckle. Read more
I simply cannot believe she is two weeks old today.
So it’s been just over two weeks since I last wrote, and obviously, quite a bit has happened since then – namely, I had a baby! Me. I gave birth. To a person. It’s amazing how much life can change in the span of fourteen days.
First, I would like to thank everyone for the well-wishes, prayers, thoughts, emails and messages during this time. Even though I was off busy birthin’ a baby, I can’t tell you how much I missed blogging, and how touched I was by the outpouring of support. You all are swell. Seriously.
I admit that I am having some difficulty writing this post. I’m scrolling through my phone looking for pictures to supplement, and I’m overcome with emotion. Aisha’s delivery and birth were difficult – traumatic, even. We almost didn’t make it. And while we’ve both come out of the experience no worse for wear, the enormity of it seeps into my conscience every now and then, and it’s sobering. Sometimes I tear up. Sometimes I cry outright. Read more
Aerial view. Has anyone seen my toes? They were here a few weeks ago…
This isn’t so much a TMI as it is an update – although the attached image of me below, semi-clothed, might be a little more of me than some are comfortable with.
I haven’t been one for pictures during this pregnancy, but I thought it might be good to post a recent image of my current form. I’ve already posted about being too big to shave, but really, I just feel so big in general. It’s amazing how, in a few short weeks I’ve gone to half of my wardrobe fitting to nothing fitting at all.
I’ve spent the first five months of this pregnancy feeling pretty good. This Friday marks my entry into the 24th week, and I gotta say, I’m pretty much over it now.
I’m in a constant state of discomfort: I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t eat without crippling heartburn or reflux. I have blurred vision and a bad memory. My bodily functions are out of whack, my centre of gravity is shot all to hell, and I hurt. Everywhere. All of the time.
I would give anything to be able to poop like a normal person. Read more
I’ve never been what you’d call a busty girl. In fact, I’ve never even had a “bust.”
All my life, I’ve been a barely-there A-cup, and for the most part, I’ve truly enjoyed my membership in the itty-bitty titty committee. Sure, there were some things that I could never hope to wear – even with the support of push-up bras, chicken cutlets and other devices used to create the illusion of a gravity-defying bosom, but I just always chose to wear things that highlighted my other assets. Like my sexy – dare I say enviable? – collarbones. My long neck and my tiny waist. My long legs. And a really great ass.
(Clearly, humility is not among my other assets. 😀 )
I have owned the same four bras for the last ten-plus years. How is this even possible? you may wonder. Easy. With such a small chest, there often isn’t a need to wear one, so my bras (and my boobs) have maintained their shape. As my pregnancy has progressed, I still haven’t worn one, but not because of the aforementioned aversion to them. For the first time in the history of man, my bras don’t fit. Not only that, I have cleavage.
Full disclosure: I’m lying down, but I’ve rotated the photo to show that there’s definite cleave-ing. I think this is the first time my left and right breasts have ever met each other.
After I took this photo, I sent it to the boy via text message. I won’t re-print his full response, but when he called later, he did say the words, “very nice” and “wow.” I think there even have been a “thank you, Lord,” and possibly some weeping.