Red Velvet Whoopie Pies

One of the drawbacks of being on leave for three months is that my snack drawer at work is a barren wasteland of dusty teabags and baggies of Tylenol and multivitamins. So while I was out buying myself lunch today, I also bought a bag of Salt and Vinegar Soy Crisps. I’ve tried both the BBQ and Cheddar ones before and they were pretty good, and the label made them seem pretty Weight Watchers friendly.

I just opened the bag and ate my first one. They are indescribably bad. Never never never try them. Ick.

I gained A LOT of weight when I was pregnant. 60 pounds to be exact. I didn’t go too crazy with the eatin’ and yet, the weight just piled on. I wasn’t too worried about it, nor was my doctor, since I’d lost a bunch of weight right before I got pregnant and I was confident I’d be able to do it again.

Three months after birthin’ this baby, I’m down about 35 pounds. 25 more and I’ll be at a weight I’m really happy with, though ten more pounds than that and I’d be ecstatic. That said, I’ve been told not to expect those final 10 pounds to go away until after I’m done breastfeeding.

Anyway…I was talking with GTB about how I’m looking forward to getting back to a svelter version of myself. “I’m tired of being Miss Piggy to your Kermit,” I told him.

“Yeah well, if I keep eating the way I have been,” GTB responded, “I’m going to be Snuffleupagus to your Elmo.”

Signe is now 12 weeks old, which means we’ve survived the newborn phase of babyhood. Now she’s an official infant, I guess. Whatever that means, she’s never been cuter, more fun, or more hilarious.

In the past several days, she’s started really noticing her hands. It’s both funny as hell because she looks like she’s on shrooms when she stares at her digits in awe and wonder and practical because she can now self-soothe with her own thumb. Whenever there isn’t a pacifier in her maw, there is at least one finger or thumb. Makes car rides much more pleasant.

We’ve also noticed that she doesn’t like Thai food. I probably should have guessed this given my own distaste for it when I was pregnant. I’ve always loved Thai, but couldn’t stand even the smell of it the whole time I was PG. I’ve now eaten it twice since Signe was born and both times she has reacted badly to it. So I guess as long as I’m breastfeeding, no Thai for me.

Though she first rolled over a couple of weeks ago, GTB didn’t believe me that she could do it because she refused to do it in front of him. Until Sunday morning. Auntie Meg was visiting and Sig was in a good mood, so I put her on her tummy and a few seconds later, over she went. Let GTB never doubt me (or Signe) again.

While leaving the newborn phase has many benefits, it also has a couple of drawbacks. The most pressing one right now is that the Happiest Baby on the Block methods we were using to soothe her and get her to sleep aren’t working as well anymore. And she refuses to go to sleep in the sling anymore. Thus, sleep training has begun in earnest.

I go back to work on Monday, so we’re trying to get Signe on a nap schedule. So much easier said than done, not just because Signe decides when she wants to go to sleep–not some clock–but it means we have to be home at the same time every day. It’s amazing how difficult that last part is. Before, Sig could sleep anywhere and a nap in her carseat was as good as one in her crib, but that’s no longer the case. Loud noises wake her up and she won’t sleep for more than about 30 minutes in the car seat. Then she wakes up grumpy and gassy, as would you if you were forced to sleep all scrunched up like that.

All complaints aside, Signe is still the cutest, and best, baby this side of anywhere. I don’t know how much of it is good breeding and how much is just plain luck. Regardless, we’re convinced she’s gifted both physically and mentally and that she’ll be the first Nobel Prize winner for Literature to also win an Olympic gold medal in yoga.

A few weeks ago. My counselor and I were talking about the anxiety I’m having about returning to work and how I should spend the next few weeks focusing on the moment rather than anticipating what’s to come. She asked me if there was something I wanted to do during my maternity leave that I haven’t done yet. The only thing that came to mind was that I had been saving the three seasons of “Gilmore Girls” DVDs I got as presents last Christmas and had really hoped to get through them before my time at home was up. She suggested that every afternoon I brew myself a pot of tea and watch one episode.

Naturally, I went home that afternoon and watched five episodes.

I finished season one a few days later, got through season two in a little over a week and am currently about half way through season three. When I told GTB how bummed I was that I’m almost out of episodes to watch, he reminded me that an entire season costs about $20 and we could always go get more.

Yesterday, we went to Target to pick up a few necessities. As I perused the book section for something to read that isn’t about baby sleep patterns or pumping at work, GTB headed to the DVD section. When I went to find him, I passed the TV DVDs and grabbed season four of “Gilmore Girls.” I caught up with GTB and showed him what I got. Without missing a beat, he reached into the cart and showed me that he’d already grabbed seasons four and five.

What a husband.

Three years ago to the day, GTB and I had our first date, and I’m as excited about him as I was that first night. I love him more as more time passes. I am incredibly happy that I get to spend the rest of my days with him. I get a huge kick out of watching him be a dad to my daughter. And I can’t believe how lucky I am.

So here’s to three years, GTB. And two more seasons.

I’m sorry, but is this the sweetest baby you’ve ever seen or what?

Signe woke up yesterday with a snotty little nose. I tried to suck out as much of the green goo as possible with a bulb syringe, but there was some stubborn stuff up there.

It was clearly bugging Sig, so I really wanted to get it. I pondered maybe using a Q-tip or something, but decided against it for fear of hurting her.

As she fell asleep in my arms, she rested her little hand on her little face, and that’s when I noticed that her fingers are just the right size to get at the boogies. I didn’t force her to pick her own nose, of course, but I did have this little epiphaneous question come to mind:

If God didn’t want us to pick our own noses, why did he make our fingers the perfect size to do it?

This morning, I put Signe on her infant gym for tummy time. She usually hates it, but she seemed to be tolerating it pretty well. About a minute after I put her down, she shifted her weight to one side and rolled all the way over to her back. She looked equal parts smug and amused. I laughed my ass off and wrote it off as a fluke.

Aunt Katie came to visit us this afternoon and since she is a child development expert, I wanted to show her how Signe does with tummy time. After lying there for a few minutes, Signe shifted her weight to one side and rolled over again. It took her a bit longer this time, but she did it. Babies aren’t really supposed to do that until they are three months old.

With a witness, I can now officially say that my 10-week-old daughter is gifted. I’m pretty sure she gets it from my side of the family.

I keep thinking of the scene in “Shakespeare in Love” where Viola’s nursemaid is trying to wake her up after Viola has spent the night with Will for the first time. The nurse knocks on the door repeatedly and says “It’s a new day, miss.” Viola, glowing with morning-after bliss, opens the door wide and with a smile as radiant as the sun says,

“It’s a new WORLD.”

I know this is going to sound crazy, but my breastpump says things. It talks.

The first time I used it, the repetitive chugga chugga of the little engine sounded like it was saying “Where’s Greg? Where’s Greg? Where’s Greg?” A week or so after that, I swear it was saying “When I pump. When I pump,” over and over again.

I didn’t tell anyone about my talking breastpump, but the first time I pumped in front of GTB (which I had been avoiding lest he start viewing my previously beautiful breasts as nothing more than giant feed bags), he looked at me and said, “Your breastpump keeps saying “wormholes.” So at least I know I’m not the only one.

Yesterday morning, the pump must have been feeling rather Republican because it repeated “John McCain” incessantly. I told GTB about it and his response was “That’s not a good sign.”

I don’t know if he meant that he thinks I might be really losing it or that it portends bad things for Obama. In either case, I have to agree with him.