Welcome to Stockholm

On Wednesday, my adorable mini captor celebrated two months of breathing. Not to mention pooping and barfing. It takes a village something something. Something indeed! I didn't particularly care for her (or anything) for most of those two months, but we're on a roll now. That may sound terribly harsh, but until you've gone through it, shut your blessed screech hole. We missed out on all the post-birth slimy baby on the chest bonding, and at the time I didn't think much of it (since I was really high), but it did matter. Mr. H and I recently tried to piece together the afternoon after she was born, and we can't remember what happened when. I don't remember seeing her for the first time. I didn't get to touch her and sniff her and count toes since my damn arms were numb. Then there's a huge gap of lost time when I was busy bleeding profusely. I really resent what we both missed: me getting to know her in that early quiet alert stage, and her being cuddled as much as she deserved after a rough splashdown. The animal process was fundamentally disrupted, and I went home with a painful wound and a foreign little bundle of screaming. We've had to learn each other. It's been hard. Calculus hard. Middle East peace hard.

***

Today she demonstrated her first poor taste when she enjoyed the "Hampster Dance Song." And since I am a terrible mother, I bought it for her from iTunes. Three minutes of Hampster Dance is soooo much better than 30 seconds. There are nuances. Nuances make a baby giggle and bounce. The liquor bottles on the shelf in the kitchen also make her giggle. So do the Japanese postcards in the bathroom. In a few more days, we're going to find out how she likes "Snakes on a Plane." I wonder if it will rate as highly as watching laundry spin?

Posted 10:37 AM by Licketysplit