I no longer look like myself. I'm not just talking the pot belly or the weird way my upper thighs jut like I'm wearing mini traffic cones under my yoga pants. It's also in my face, which looks like someone smeared the definition and left dark eraser marks under my eyes. My hair has gotten more full and longer and it grows wildly.
It's neither good nor bad, it's just different. I guess I look more like the kind of woman at the coffee shop you ask to watch your laptop while you pee than one who might barf into that same purse if you left it on the bar.
I've seen this happen to other women who have recently had babies: One minute they're round and ripe and they still just look like a rounder, riper version of your old friend; next time you see them, they damn-near have to shake you and say "Hey! It's me under this weird new face and body and shirt with convenient access to my breasts! Hi!"
It's like on soap operas when they fire an actor but keep the character and bring in a new actor who looks like a distant relative of the first one.
I didn't know I was a simulacrum until this past week. Twice I've had to reintroduce myself to people I know-know. I wonder if I'll ever go back to normal or if I'll have to send out some official statement to friends regarding my new me.
Every day seems to bring the most minute bit of development and it is freaking fascinating. A few days ago she seemed to discover her hands and she stared at them like a stoner, dazed as she moved her fingers. In my groggy state I began to imagine that she knew sign language and was sending me special messages she carried with her from the womb. Eat more Iron. Update the operating system on your iPhone.
After a few weeks, the PBG has finally noticed a toy frog that dangles in her car seat. It was billed for babies 0 and older, but the only time she's acknowledged it was once when it brushed against her head and she made concerned eyebrows about it. Yesterday she spent about 20 minutes staring at it with a slight smile and making baby noises. She made a few swipes at it with her hand, but seemed unable to figure out how to touch it or what touching it entailed.
So ... GREAT! Now try telling this to someone and eliciting the same level of excitement as I had, watching her watch the frog.
"How's the baby?"
"Fantastic! She learns things every day."
"Oh, yeah? Like what?"
"Like, that she has hands!"
"She tried to touch the frog toy that hangs in her car seat."
"But she didn't, like, roll over or anything?"
"No, but you could see her figuring out her hand."
"Sleep through the night?"
"Her fingers brushed it's foot!"
"She seemed a little confused about her left hand's role in all of this."
This week I learned that the tiny seed-like substances in the baby's crap are curds of milk. Science!
Is it just me, or is the world suddenly filled with so many kids?
We bought the PBG a mobile for her crib as part of a glacially-paced transition from a bed in our room to her own bed in her own room (where her sleep-snorts can be controlled with the baby monitor's volume button). We got a mobile that is referred to as a "soother" which offers quiet music or white noise, a night light and a carousal of animals. The trifecta of sensory lulling experiences.
Except she loves the mobile and finds it super fascinating. It's her TV and her circus and her fireworks. Big smile, leg kicks, did she laugh? She's got front row seats and she's a total Moblieber.
|I love this photo so much. She was asleep in the stroller when I ripped open the cover for the shoot at the lighthouse in Canal Park. She wailed and I cackled, took a quick and terrible photo and she was asleep again a few seconds later.|