... and a Glorious Full Month

In celebration of Tara's first cumplemes (only the Spanish language is capable of coming up with a word that signifies the completion a month's life as opposed to a year) the Vidaloenn family trecked into town for a celebratory coffee at Starbucks. Mummy and daddy were hoping for the present of a first definately intentional smile but maybe we're expecting too much there. Mummy managed not only dressing herself properly but also the baby, even though she looked like a boy and I tried to pass her off as one by the name of Mark Gordon. And because we are, also in celebration of a full month without much of a social life, trying to actually have one tonight (guests! dinner! desert and a few games!), no more words but pictures only: Tara (aka Mark Gordon) on her first cumplemes.





This is what happened at starbucks: We ordered coffee, had a sip, then Tara woke up and decided it was her turn. She had a breast, a rest, a poo and her first change on a public changing station. Below we are introducing her beautiful girly self (portrait) and her poo-poo face (this picture will obviously have to be removed before I print this blog as a present for her 18th birthday, potentially sometime earlier when she introduces us to her first boyfriend).

A Glorious Four Weeks

Here she is, in all her exactly-four-week-old glory (compared to her four-day-old darling self)! So she's nearly a month old today. To mark the occasion, Mummy made her first dinner in over a month (a tin of tomatoes, two tins of random beans, some frozen sweetcorn, three authentic carrots and some ready made chili-con-carne flavourings - no carne as there was none in the freezer; and some cous-cous. Delightful), and daddy clutched the sleeping child to his flat chest (put her down and she'll scream murder, guaranteed) during dinner. Oh the luxury of facing a plate without juggling Tara!
I did point out earlier that (an hour and nine months ago) I didn't quite know what I was letting myself in for - let me just repeat that I really didn't. Over the last week Tara has taken to suckling non-stop with only the occasional break to sick some of the excess milk back up (hence no blogs). Nappy wastage has picked up as a consequence. My shoulders ache. My tummy has mostly disappeared, partially because that's the cause of events, and partially because I just never get to the fridge while i'm glued to the sofa with an infant that performs creative yoga stretches with my nipple stuck in her mouth. Jose is back at work and cannot feed me on a regular basis. And on some days my social life consists of few text messages and a visit from the health visitor. But I have no regrets, there is plenty compensation. I adore snuggling up with her for the night (she sleeps in our bed and the only family member who ever leaves it is daddy ;-), listening to her little snuffles and other little sounds she makes, bathing with her is delightful, and a bit of skin-to-skin gets me so high it renders me unable to do anything but coo and rave for hours after.

Pumpuni has started fixing her gaze on interesting things like daddy making funny sounds, and turns her head to follow such attractions. A few first smiles nearly seemed intentional, revealed two cute dimples, and who do you think they were for? Why, daddy of course!

Still waiting for the smile that can be repeated...

Happy and contented after a suckling marathon (a rare pose)

Mummy cuddles

Daddy is the best. Of course. Who else?! And daddy's fingers are quite nearly as good as mummy's ouchy nipples!

Take That, Scan-Man!

This picture really does all the talking that is required here. Yes, only three weeks old and weighing 3370g, that's nearly 600g in three weeks she's put on! We're the proud parents of a healthy and heavy baby, not to say, big and fat, and whoever had us concerned about Pumpuni's AC (abdominal circumference)(yes, YOU, scan-man!), well, just take another look!

This Baby Sucks!

Yes, this baby sucks! Literally, anything: Fingers lengthwise and sidewise, nipples (of course), her own little fists or fingers (when she's lucky enough for them to find their way into her mouth, somehow accidentally) and anything else that comes close enough to be cought by our shark girl - clothing, bibs, necks, arms etc etc. Quote Daddy Jose: "I'm going to get a nipple transplant for my biceps, 'Yes, doctor, I would like a nipple transplanted here; No, doctor, it's nothing sexual, it's for my daughter.'"


Now take a sleepless night, add a sucked-through day, see aunty Claudia march through the door (suitcase in tow), and mummy gives in to The Dummy Debate.

Interlude: THE DUMMY DEBATE (in short, as it has been led over the last 3 weeks)
Daddy: I'm going to exchange this noisy child for a little cat! Alex, let's stick a dummy in! Get some sleep! My fingers are sucked to the bone!
Mummy: You cruel cruel man want to deprive my baby girl, my little kitten, of human touch and warmth?! And you want me to marry you?! You've got another 9 fingers, stick the next in, my nipples need a break!
Daddy: Fingers! Dirty! Unhygienic! Dummys can be sterilised!
Mummy: We're not Michael Jackson! Wash your hands! I'm not giving in so soon! I'll have a nipple ready in, erm... soon!
Mummy (amicably): Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee and spoon-feed it you?

So there I was, eyeing the dummys daddy had bought 3 weeks ago ("The best! The most expensive and just look at the wonderful features... massage nipples..."), and my resistance just caved in when Jose, cunningly, repeated his dummy suggestion.
And then what happened? Mummy daughter didn't like them at all! In they went, out they came, and loud it was! So, this little girl sucks - everything BUT dummies. We'll find a way around this I'm sure, some time, erm... soon.

Daddy's Got to Earn a Living

It crept up on us slowly, it had to happen, and eventually it did: Jose had to go back to the lab. He took with him:
The man who makes and feeds me my breakfast while I'm feeding Tara in bed;
The man who drags baby equipment and mummy-support-cushions up and down the stairs when required;
The man who changes nappies ever so lovingly (and only rarely hisses shhhhhh at his daughter at full volume, assuming she stops whingeing because she is fascinated by the sound);
The man who knows how to soothe his little girl by talking to her non-stop and rocking her for as long as she wants (also the man who commands the magical finger as demonstrated in the last video clip);
The man who makes mummy's lunch; and
The man who takes Tara off mummy and makes her laugh when she looks like she needs a break.
In short, he's taken with him the whole support team that did everything but feeding la senorita Pumpunita, and consequently I'd been dreading the day. I'm still getting a grace period until Wednesday lunch time when aunty Claudia ends her (extended, thank you!) baby visit, but from tomorrow on we'll be on our own for most of the day. Life will resume a semblance of normalcy (someone tell my nipples please?) ihopeihopeihope.

So, would you think that Jose found us home and eagerly awaiting his return on that first day of separation? Nope. We'd meant to be there in the same measure that we'd meant to commence sling and pram training at around lunch time. I'm not very experienced at timing Tara yet, though. The first time at around noon we made it (semi-dressed) into the pram before we had to abort 'operation walk' due to high pitched screaming for food. The second time we made a dash for it we got through the gate and only aborted three minutes later due to the same miserable shouting. The third time we looked at her and figured we had a chance it was 5pm. This time Tara was full and tired enough to cooperate and we made it all the way into the city center and to work to show her off at the office. I was wearing jeans and trainers (good!) and higher up a bra, milk pads and a jacket on top (not good but a significant improvement). By the time we got there everyone had left but my boss Janet and three colleagues working late. And of course they complained that we were bringing the baby in asleep! Tara duly woke up, remained cuddleable for a few minutes, then did a poo, then another one, next commenced shouting for suckables as loudly as she could, then turned redder than I've ever seem her before, and finally did convince her mother to take her home for a feed.
I didn't think I'd make it across the street before I'd give in to the urge to pick her up, but (yes, Janet) the second we hit the road she fell silently asleep. My angelic girl! (Oh. Daddy's angelic girl as well of course!) Look at her, you'd never think she was capable of making such a racket!

The Evolution of Kisses

Theory has it, I've once read somewhere, that Western style kissing (as opposed to, for example, the 'Eskimo style' rubbing of noses) has evolved from feeding. The pleasure of lips embracing edibles and the role that kind of behaviour plays in the survival of the species, from suckling infants to pre-chewed food passed from a mother's mouth to a child's (this would be way back in history, well before forks at least).


Today we timed Pumpuni's bathtime very poorly and ended up trying to wash a very very hungry und very impatient infant. We'd made it through to washing her hair (not long to go now, baby!) when she decidedly no longer wanted to go on bathing and turned red with anger. We know from experience that kissing her all over her little face will soothe her for a little while, just enough to finish her hair, wrap her up and whack her on. Tara was faster though and simply got hold of my NOSE. Not that it's in any way similar to my nipples (size for starters...), but her experience with lactating suckables is limited, and how would a 17-day old darling know that milk is not to be be had from all that can be sucked? It's making me think though: When I soothe her with kisses, it's probably not the sweetness of my love for her that is calming her but the impression that there are a dozen nipples all over her face at once. Honestly, that would baffle me into silence as well...

El Dedo Magico

AHHHHHHH!!! Se me olvidaba. Anoche descubri que poseo dotes paranormales en mis manos. No no curo el reuma, pero si, tengo el don de calmar a los lactantes. Pulsen y vean!

Cultura Televisiva o Falta de Dormir...

Hola, muy buenas!
Me recordaran por otros "Post" y por algunas apariciones estelares en los "Post" de Alex.
Siiii!!, yo soy "El Padre", vamos el que cocina, limpia, y ayuda en general (Ahyy!, las que tenemos que servir...).
La ultima vez que me deje leer por aki aun estaba yo pensando en el sexo (de mi hija, quisir) y como seria la vida cuando fueramos tres. Bueno, ya somos trio y la verdad es que lo vamos llevando bastante bien. La ke mejor, Tara, que basicamente pasa de todo y se limita a comer y a hacer popos&pipis. Y creanme, como "cambiador oficial del nappy" (nombrado a dedo, y con mucha honra!) que soy, les puedo decir que lo de P&P me lo lleva muy bien y en potente abundancia (si no vean el retrato que me hicieron en el acto, donde Tara me disparo a discrecion muy traicioneramente).

Alex y un servidor estamos basicamente cansados y/o agotados, y es basicamente (x2) porque no dormimos, bueno, mas bien, porque no nos dejan dormir. Basicamente (x3), Tara ha decidido (sin previa consulta) que solo quiere dormir 2-3h y comer el resto del dia. Asi que, por aki, lo llevamos como podemos. Para ser honesto, todo es compensado cuendo le ves la carita o te hace cualquier cosilla.

Lo peor es cuando Alex, bueno sus containers de leche, no se prestan raudos y veloces a las demandas de Tara (las menos de las ocasiones, pq Alex esta siendo un verdadera estrella!!). En esas raras ocasiones, es cuando entra un servidor como artista secundario que es, e intento distraerla donandole parte de mi basta cultura televisiva y de otras cosas en general (esa EGB!!!)



Bueno, les voy dejando que mis nenas me requieren. La proxima vez habra fotos de Tara comiendo su primera Bratwurst (despues de todo es mitad alemana!!) y les hablare de lo dificil que es montar/ensamblar juguetes para bebes. Venga!! prometo mas retratos y menos rollo. Besos + cuidarseme caterva.

A Fashion Accident

There I was, starting to think that all there would be to write about for the next weeks and weeks to come was stories about sore nipples, sleep deprivation, baby poo and endless hick ups. But there is more indeed - fashion, and the accidents one may have possibly due to a reduction in the amount of brain cells the system can spare such a negligible subject area when it is busy with so much more rewarding areas like milk production or the colour of poo.
Tara and I were baby sling training today and I'd worked out in a few seconds that she preferred me to walk her up and down in her sling (brain is fully functional in that respect). So I decided to take her for a walk. Spontaneously, and off we went. She liked it so much she was asleep in two minutes (asleep! the joys of that!). Taken by my success, I just walked on, chatting to her, and only realised when I hit the bottom of New Walk that I'd actually walked out in my Schluffelhosen and other wildly mismatched items of nightwear. A particular sight were the grey flip flops with blue thick non-slip cow socks, not depicted below (and better that way). Do take note of the saggy bottom, my dotted undies showing, and my unkempt hair. I don't think my teeth were brushed, but that would have only been a prob with Pumpunita, and she's used to worse.



Tara Pumpuni is exactly two weeks old today (one hour and 27 minutes short of a fortnight to be precise). Ask me: Did I have an idea of what was coming my way, a fortnight ago? NOT A HUNCH! Yawn...

Infant Socks, One Pair (with Child), 2006

In the end I took pity on the much mentioned pair of socks and took their picture. With my beautiful child, of course (and who's the star of that picture?!).
Other than that, nothing much has happened today. I must have held Tara for at least 10 hours since we got up, either feeding her, or holding her sleeping (scared that putting her into her cot would wake her up and get us into another two-hour feeding session) or just holding her because she's so cute and cuddly.
I'm tired though. My arms hurt. My shoulders are sore. As are my nipples. And my beautiful child is rooting on daddy's neck, only two minutes after he's taken her off me. What a hungry beautiful child!

Day Ten and a Couple of Firsts

(Click on pictures to enlarge)

Today Tara took her first walk outside and had her first bath at home. She is also wearing socks for the first time but we're not taking a picture of that.
Her first walk, she slept through (sadly, walking her in Victoria Park at night to establish a healthy bedtime routine is not an option) and only woke very hungry five minutes before we got home.
Mummy had to pick her up and talk to her constantly, promising the joys of two breasts full of milk in only a few minutes to keep her from crying. (Scenes straight from mother and daughter horror movies went through my head - I was seriously worried I could trip and fall with her or be knocked over by a car at the traffic light. Of couse there is no such genre as mother and daughter horror movies, it would not sell, but it's amazing what new fears having a baby gives you.)


Her first bath at home was an entirely different experience from the one at the hospital, she did not complain at all (does that mean she liked it?), so I am now hereby officially endorsing and recommending tummy tubs to all mums, new mums and mums-to-be!



As for the socks, nothing much to mention there except that they are blue and have been bought by her nanna (with love). We did not, like I said, take a picture to celebrate the moment although of course we have paid it due attention and cooed over her in her darling tiny socks.

And while we're uploading pictures, let me just throw in one to show off her lovely belly button - it's an inny!

Tonight, Tonight...

Can you hear me singing? West Side Story! Serves the triple purpose of making sure that mummy doesn't go bonkers, that daddy doesn't return to the bedroom once he's been exciled, and soothing a very hungry baby. Rename it 'Tara's Theme' and sing along any time you wake up between 10pm and 10am (Tara's night by definition).

"Tonight, tonight,
Won't be just any night,
Tonight there will be no morning star.
Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love tonight.
And for us, stars will stop where they are."

Tony and Maria had different things in mind (good for them!), mummy Alex and Tara, well... Last night daddy again threatened to have our little girl exchanged for a kitten, so he got himself exiled from the bedroom some time well after midnight - and my motivation was entirely selfish: I do need him to function in the daytime, to feed me while I'm sitting about incapacitated (aka feeding Tara), especially now that Tara's nanna has gone home much earlier than planned, poor thing didn't feel she was needed with Jose being such a star (albeit decidedly not a morning star).
But following the community midwife's visit today, Tara stands redeemed - we've been diagnosed with a growth spurt! (I say 'we' but it is really only her. My tummy is visibly shrinking back to normal, and I'm not discussing my breast in detail on the net!) There is nothing wrong with her need for four to five hour feeding marathons, followed by a max of two and a half hours of sleep, followed by another marathon, AND SO ON. There was hope, briefly, when it looked like she's disovered the use of her fingers this morning, but even with the well meaning help of mummy and daddy has she been unable to reproduce it. Poor little hungry soul!

To make things worse, today was the first day mummy and Tara Pumpunita stayed home alone for a few hours. Jose, being the daddy he is, set us up for a full five hour marathon before he left: dinner, desert, juice and water, reading material, phones on the back of the sofa, and a fully set up changing station (from left to right). He quite forgot toilet arrangements, unfortunately, but my inability to operate the laptop with my feet is my own fault alone. And yes, when Jose came back a few hours later, all that had changed was the level of food and drink, and we were one nappy down.



PS: Apologies to all that are waiting for me to return a phone calls. I know it looks like I have the leasure to talk on the phone for hours (well, four to five), but I actually have quite a headache (lack of sleep) and am unable to focus on decent conversation (milk production over brain cells I guess). Sorry. Hang on in there, your phone WILL ring one of these days.

Tara's Prayer

We didn't mean to have her baptized, but it seems the Spanish Catholic heritage will have it's own way with our Pumpunita! And being his daughter's father, Jose knows exactly what's on our little girl's mind and was able to put her prayer into (Spanish) words for mummy:
'Santa Teta, danos leche. Santa Teta bendita. Quedate chiquitita y danos leche.' (Holy Booby, give us milk, blessed holy booby. Stay small and give us milk!) (Excuse me?!! SMALL??!!)
This was two days ago, and the prayer did do wonders. Tara's and mummy's technique has improved, and dinner times are less painful now - it has even become safe to stay within kicking distance when she latches on. I am grateful. As a consequence, Tara's changed her feeding pattern and now needs a one-hour-snack every 1 1/2 to three hours, rather than a 1 1/2 hour feed every five hours. I'm not sure I'm grateful for that, as it means four feeds a night, but at least she is now displaying more traits of her mother, which again I am grateful for.
Of course, you can guess what I'm praying for. As is daddy: 'That's it! In the morning I'm taking her back! You can have a kitten instead!' Not a very holy thought...

(Sorry for display of breasts clad in nothing but my suckling child!)



She is a week old today! Exactly seven days ago I was building up to pushing, at 7.22pm still in a shared room and embarrassed about my, erm, vocalisations, until the other woman behind the curtain also started retching and moaning (I wonder, had she had a tuna sandwich too?).
Today the cord stump has come off, we're so proud! She's getting bigger by the hour, soon she'll be going to school...