The Wink is a labor of love, occasional source of ire and constantly influenced by the toddlywinks in my life- my daughters. There's also the HunkyWink. You'll read all about them as The Wink unfolds. Please feel free to wink back!

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Punctuality is overrated...

Unless of course the punctuality in question is related to the critter brewin' inside a mama's belly.

Karen put out a call last night to all those ladies that endured more than 40 weeks of pregnancy. Seems that Sam at Temporarily Me is clocking in at 6 days past her "due date," which, when you are overdue becomes, "The great lie told to you by callus and incompetent medical professionals."

The idea was to share some funny stories about futile attempts to smoke the baby out. I found that as I waited (twice) for labor to happen, while my due date shrank in the distance, that those around you who are not pregnant find no humor in nontraditional methods of helping baby along.

"I am going for acupuncture to see if we can get things going."

"Ooooh, oh no, do you really think that's wise?"

Ummm, yeah, the kid's been in here for 41 weeks, you'd care enough to take a pot roast out, why not a baby?

"I'm thinking I'll squirt a little Tabasco on up the old birth canal, coax her out with some heat."

"Really? That's sick. You might hurt it."

Ok, first, you really think I want liquid fire in my lady parts? And second, "it" is a "her," a baby, unless of course your "it" was referring to my body, in which case, thanks for your concern.

The reality is when you hit the last month, barring extreme home renovations, you are ready. No one really gets it. I tried everything but Castor oil, my desire to avoid diarrhea on the delivery table was the only thing stronger than my desire to have Avery and then Finley arrive.

Sometime today Sam will get a hand by way of an induction, unless of course her little one is like my Fin and the threat of being helped out gets her stubborn hackles up and she scoots herself out before they can administer the drugs.

Either way, let's all wish Sam a swift delivery and a healthy baby. Today!

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Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Breasts, Belly and Bagina

Life post-delivery with a toddler and one shower:

A 3 and half year old on breasts: "Why ya got those big things? What are they?"

Same child on a 3 week postpartum belly: Patting it, "It's kinda like a pillow."

And commenting on what's at eye level: "Why are you all fuzzy down there?"

I'm telling you, it doesn't get any more glamorous or morale boosting than this.

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Thursday, May 22, 2008

Soggy kibble & sticky bums

As I type this there are exactly 14 frazzled, over-processed strands of I'm-going-to-fall-out-any-minute, postpartum hair, which is free of any of the $12 anti-frizz serum I bought and has been neither blow-dried nor brushed yet today, that I am futilely attempting to blow out of my eyes.

I get a kick out of the use of "yet," as if there is some hope that despite it already being 4:45 6:15 in the afternoon evening, that I might actually get to "doing " my hair today.

Briar is upstairs hollering at me, at first I thought it was the standard, "Mom! Mom, I pooped!" delivered in her trademark sing-sing screech, but I was wrong. Upon more careful listening I heard, "Mah-um! Mah-um, there is no toilet paper up here and I pooped."

I rolled my eyes and silently chided myself for not having given the much needed, "Check for toilet paper before you start" sermon.

"Ok, I'm coming," I popped Fin in the Boppy and started for the stairs, but a sound stopped me.

"Avery, please leave the cat food alone," I called as I bounded up the stairs.

"I'z just playin' wit' it," she called back nonchalantly in her oddly hip-hop sounding toddler-speak. Briar was waiting for me at the top of the stairs with her clothes on.

"Did you wipe?" I asked.

"Yes, a lot," she answered seriously.

"But the toilet paper, you said there wasn't any," I marveled.

She led me into the bathroom to see a very empty roll on the wall and a very large, Adirondack mountain peak like mound of toilet paper sitting in the toilet.

"See, there is NO toilet paper on there and here there is a lot," she was moving to lift the tp out of the bowl, but I managed to communicate in a series of squawks and sputters that it wouldn't be necessary.

I replaced the roll, supervised Briar washing her hands and then headed downstairs.

Click. Clickety click click click. Splash.

"Ave! Please, no more cat food in the water," I barked.

"S'ok, I'z just playin' wit' it a little bitty much," she said as she continued pawing pale kibble over a ledge and (mostly) into a dish of murky water brimming with bloated kibble, a sight that never ceases to rise the tiniest amount of bile in the back of my throat.

Briar shook me from my reverie by running up to me and breathlessly declaring that she'd be pooping again as she hopped on the downstairs toilet.

"My comin'in wit' you?" Avery asked hopefully.

"Ok, but you have to let me concentrate for the poop," Briar said seriously.

"Ho'k, concentrate for poop," Avery said nodding.

I turned, a juicy morsel of waterlogged kibble exploding beneath my foot, and laughed. I hate cats and I don't particularly enjoy wiping poopy bottoms, but somehow the absurdity of it all struck me as an utterly hilarious blessing.

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Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Mamarazzo


Dude, easy with the flash!


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Tuesday, May 20, 2008

What Not to Do

You know I'd love the title to be What Not to Wear and have this be a post about how Stacey and Clinton are poised to thrust $5,000 at me for new clothes which will define the narrowest part of my waist, hoist up the girls and show the world how sassy and hawt my backside is, while Nick Arrojo and Carmindy wait in the wings to tell me how lush my tresses are and how gorgeous my hazely-green eyes are, alas, it's not that. I fear my current propensity for whipping out my impossible-to-contain boobs makes the secret footage not-so-secret and way too hard to keep the cameras dry.

Nope, this post is about what not to do in the weeks following the birth of your third child. As we learned in week one- Don't walk to the park, and in week two- Don't go for an Adirondack hike. Now, just shy of week three, I bring to you a third and a fourth lesson - Do not agree to a photo shoot* and wait until the morning of said photo shoot to select the clothing you and your two youngest children will wear. More specifically, do not wait until 8am to establish that, no, in fact none of your non-maternity pants do really fit, and furthermore, neither do any of the shirts you had in mind reach the waistband of the previously mentioned pants.

At 19 days postpartum the best you can hope for is great drape to your clothes to mask miserable back fat, devastating michelin rolls, and covenient tendrils to disguise facial bloat. You absolutely must not look at the photos expecting to see something that does not resemble Chastity Bono. No offense to Chastity, but under normal circumstances we don't look alike. Yesterday's photos, however, reveal the lesbian, rockstar daughter in me.

Where is the chiseled jaw I have glimpsed in the mirror? The surprisingly flattish stomach? The kinda-lean for 19 days later physique? Ain't nowhere to be seen.

Sigh.

Perhaps I exaggerate. perhaps not. Soon I'll have proofs to share with you and you can decide for yourselves. Luckily, no matter how ridiculous I think I look, the kid, well, she looks dynamite. And the product we are promoting is every inch the lifesaver it's touted to be, I have not had mine out of my sight since we brought Fin home.


* Melissa, I don't regret it. I think the results will be great, but I'd be lying if I didn't say this tests the vanity bone.

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Thursday, May 15, 2008

Just This





Thanking the universe for this blessing.

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Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Summer of Lust

Seems that with the warmer weather come the inescapable pangs of longing.

Coveting.

Oh-my-god-I-must-have-it'ing.

Last year we explored a pool. Our girls love the water, a boat seemed too expensive and too logistically challenging, a pool on the other hand, while requiring maintenance and vigilance, would not require dock space, gas, insurance, one of those steel ball thing-a-majiggers on the back of the car and, since I did not grow up around boats, strikes a kind of fear in my heart of spontaneous exploding that I have never suffered with a pool.

Well, as once upon a time we pissed off our mayor and we have certain nosy neighbors, it seemed inevitable that we would get caught in some sort of tangle of small town zoning hell. Sure enough, the part of the yard we would have selected for the pool is in fact our "front yard," though we use the door on the other street, our mailbox is situated on the other street and we are invited to the block party of...the other street. Laws here state that you may not have a pool in your front yard. (Despite the shit some people have in their front yards)And our back yard? No, just no, no, no.

We spent last summer ferrying the girls to the lake, the access to which can only be gained (by the unmonied folk like us) via a three mile hike through brambles and bushes, over boulders and crevasses...ok, perhaps I exaggerate, but toting two toddlers can make a moss blanketed path seem like a wild jungle gauntlet. We also trekked to points along the Hudson, but they were even more remote and favored by the hard drinking, nature wrecking kind of folks you don't particularly want to be around, especially with no witnesses for miles and miles.

We are trying to be proactive this summer, thinking about what will best suit our family, and doing what we can in advance of Mother Nature so that we are prepared. Three kids under four, a small business to run, insane gas prices and a desire to make the sweetest memories we can...any ideas? Well, as much as Avery loves getting into the car and pretending to drive places, we thought we could do a bit better.

So...we're shopping swing sets, well, actually we are shopping "play systems." The way we see it we have another 5 solid years of playground time. Sometimes the park is great, but other times you want the luxury of a bathroom, kitchen and a safe, moderately private time out area. The plan is to fence in the "front yard" and install a play structure- swings, slide and sandbox. We have neither the yard, nor the budget for the $20,000 systems that make me gasp, I like my playtime with a side of imagination and change (is that the singin' truck?), thank you very much. And, I think I found the winner today. I give you the 3 daughter wonderland contenders:

Option A:

No longer available.


Option B:


Option F:



Care to vote?

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Sunday, May 11, 2008

Cerrado

We're closed.
Off to romp in the Adirondack sun.
A mama, her girls, and her man.

Oh, happy day!

:)

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Friday, May 9, 2008

Friday Hooky

Sean took the day off. For real!

We spent the morning taking the slow route to getting ready, Briar frolicking in her dress-up gown until well past nine, Avery scampering about with bed head that made her look like a lost member of The Romantics and Fin warming and lighting the room as she radiated her perfect, newborn goodness.

We took the girls to the sitter's who was going to take them to the park which thrilled them to no end, then we made for downtown. Falling into the category of anything-is-fun-if-you-do-it-with-the-right-person we took care of a few pesky little parking fine issues at City Hall, deposited checks at the bank and popped into the coffee shop.

Plans for a grand outing were sort of dashed by the fatigue of the last week, but there was a bright spot to be had between errands and naps...kissing. Yup, lots and lots of wonderful kissing.

Three kids, a needy old house and demanding jobs and still the fire burns.

Hehehehe. Life. Is. Good.

Go kiss someone!

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Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Whatta Man, Whatta Man

Whatta mighty good man.

I know a lot of folks have been following the goings on here at The Wink since I announced last fall that we were having another baby. I've not really gone into the birth story and I don't think I will. It seems to me that they are always very moving and amazing...and long, so very, very long. It's just not something you can really fit into a tidy little blog entry. What I can do is give you a little peek into why I am more in love than ever with Sean...ok, typing that I realize that for some people, hearing the gushing stories of happily married people can be about as exciting as, well, a birth story. I'll try to keep it lively with pictures.

When we arrived at the hospital for Finley's birth I was pretty well on my way to doing the deed, each step required great effort and my breathing was...wait for it...labored

Snort.

Anyway, the doors were locked. All of them. We walked easily 400 yards back and forth, dusting the wee lass in my belly with the most colorful of language. Finally we found an intercom and got ourselves in (Under what I am sure was the amused and critical eye of the night watch people).

Then when we got to the elevators we needed to use to go up we found this:



That's tape, big, nasty, you-shall-not-pass-through-these-parts-tape. We stood, dumbstruck. Eventually the handymen down the hall grunted something that sounded like, "Ya'gunf tuh ground."

Then, having finally made our way around, we settled into our room and Sean immediately asked for a birthing ball for me. They brought it in some sort of impenetrable, industrial strength birthing ball condom, the irony of which killed me.





He has stayed up with me, rubbing my back and helping with burping as Finley has spent the last several nights from 10-2am awake, hungry and gassy.



He has dressed the girls in the morning.




Ok, so maybe Briar picked this one out herself...



He has entertained them at great personal physical expense.





He has simply allowed me to tend to Finley without another care in the world...except maybe, that they'll hurt him.




I love you, babe.

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Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Third times a blessing

The last few weeks of pregnancy brought with them the fretting of the early days-

Would she be healthy?
Did we ask for too much by having a third?
Would the girls be devastated?
Did I drink too much coffee?
Was painting the bathroom a bad idea?
Would Sean and I be ok?
Could we love her like Bri and Ave?
Could it be magic again?
Would she be ok?


I am weak from the force with which my worries were quieted. She is simply everything that we had dreamed of and so much more that we hadn't known we'd been missing. She has, with a wink of her stormy sea blue eyes, transformed our family, sealing us with a brilliant ribbon of wonder and love.

Oh, and laughter, yes laughter indeed.











And away we go!


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Sunday, May 4, 2008

Signed - Sore & Sleep Deprived in Bliss

Life with three is an absolute wonder...Grandma being here to cook, clean and entertain takes the edge off too (did I mention she tiled a bathroom wall and completed the kitchen back splash with Sean? No? Well she did, I know, I'm spoiled, but back to the girls.)

Briar has emerged from Finley's arrival as a full fledged little girl. She is dancing and preening and generally cavorting in an "I'm ok" kind of splendor. I've hovered to make sure it isn't an act, but honestly it seems as if she has been liberated. Her eyes dance and her legs move like a blur beneath her, carrying her from one big-girl activity to the next. Every once and again she flits by caresses Fin's face, pats my cheek and says, "Aw, she's just sooo Cute," and then she is gone.

Avery finds herself torn between reaching for my arms, pleading to be carried and passionately pleading to hold Finley, her baby, our baby, Mama's baby, Daddy's baby, Briar's baby, my baby, Grandma's baby, all ours baby. Last night, as Finley had her signature, "Hey, it's that time again, 1:45, the commencement of the three hour block of together time," Avery padded to our room. Sean was in with Briar, so I helped her up into bed. The three of us spent the next several hours nursing and cuddling. Avery, seeing that Fin was hungry, offered to help. As Finley hungrily slurped milk at my breast Avery leaned into me, pressing both hands on the top of my breast and saying, "I'm helping Finley with her milk in your body." The blend of mother earth and bovine machine made me break into punchy giggles.

I am sore, memories of the first six weeks of breastfeeding coming back in full, smarting-red and purple glory. The reality of being up with Finley and knowing that it is not soothing or milk or changing that she wants, but just my presence, veils me in the inimitable cloak of this time, joy and sorrow in every breath, the miracle of life and the sudden awareness of how swiftly the hands of time move pressing upon me.

And then they are there, kneading and suckling, honeyed breaths dusting my face, Sean murmuring to Briar down the hall, a soft pillow cradling my head as tendrils of Avery's hair tickle my face and Finley's toes play along my belly. My family filling up the crevices of this sleepless, rapturous time.

Silently I scribe the details of this moment in time, the marrow of my life signing it happily...

sore and sleep deprived in bliss

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Thursday, May 1, 2008

Finally, Finley

She's here.



Finley Frost, born at 8:35am on Wednesday, April 30th.




8 pounds 5 ounces after three pushes.




Already, she is adored.



Welcome to the world.

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