A Moment in the Life Of...

...Daddy!

Jose has spent the last two days at a conference, delivering a talk about poly-something somethings that look like beehives on the slides of his presentation, some chemical something or other, in other words. Not to belittle daddy's degree, it's just that his family are desperately ignorant of such matters (I relate to Biene Maja but not to compounds or outlandish names!). Before he left us to our own devices, Jose treated us to the parting gift of the pleasure of listening to his talk. Twice. The first time round, the audience behaved. The second time round (having found daddy good enough to send to Manchester just a few minutes earlier) the audience took liberties and enganged in snacking, kissing and giggling, and finally mummy decided to opt out and shove her daughter into the frontline of polymeres and their buzzy bee friends. Tara slobbered a little, kept nodding engangingly and refrained from vomiting.
Daddy loves her! He's greatly looking forward to taking her to all sorts of museums and playing Chemical Experiments with her (Mummy is looking forward to some spare time then ;-)!
For now, though, Tara has discovered a first great passion of her own, her own baby kind of buzzy bees. She is happy to stare at them for a number of minutes at a time, and I think their names might be uhm, ergh and hrr.



PS: Jose is back tonight and a good job it is! I nearly starved! ;-)

... 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...