It GROWS!

Awww, remember when she was this tiny?

(She still is.  That picture is from this morning.)

Our neighbors had their baby a week before we had ours, and over the many hurdles of navigating two newborns we managed to bring the post-fetuses together the other day.

You could say they hit it off.

Felix looks huge next to Eleanor.  I mean, he's almost twice her age and weighs probably a pound and a half more.  And so I look at him and think, she is going to be that big in a week.  She is going to be huge, and I'm not going to notice until I try to put her in her pink jimjams with the ducky feet and she doesn't fit.

We never thought she'd be so tiny.  We were convinced she'd be an enormous Krueger-baby, especially since I fed her all those second-suppers and third-desserts on the cruise.  But lo, we had to return to the store for the newborn diapers, because the infant diaps were ridiculous large on her.  And lo, the only things that fit her are a handful of tiny sleepers from my sister's mother-in-law, and one that I borrowed from Robyn.  And lo!  She hath already gained a full pound from her hospital discharge weight!  We'll fill in all that extra skin yet.

We went out!

Nobody died!  Or got overdue fines.

I am winning at life.

Feeding another human is my superpower.

So, breastfeeding.  It's weird, right?  No, I'm doing it right now and I'm telling you that it's weird.  Your argument is invalid.

And after the obligatory difficulties and frustrations and minor meltdowns, El feeds alright.  She spits up like a bandit, which I guess is pretty par.  But every time she does, I am simultaneously like, Gross, that was inside me, and DUDE, I MADE THAT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE WASTING IT.

Also, all her best faces are feeding faces, and they are difficult to capture without also exposing you to Unnecessary Boob.  Like the Pirate Eye, above.  It's always the top eye, and she'll watch me suspiciously, as though she thinks I'm going to whip the boob away just as she's getting going.  Or the Feeding Frenzy:

This is her starving face.  This is the face that says, I HAVE OVER-NAPPED AND MUST DINE.  It is my favorite face.

Also hilarious are The Crocodile (it involves air-chomping) and The Wild Boar (like The Crocodile, but with snorts).

Well-preserved

Joel and I got iPhones just in time.  This is going to be the most well-documented baby on the planet, and when her siblings later ask why there aren't as many photos of them total as there are of day-old El, we'll say Because mama and daddy didn't get new phones three days before you were born.  But here, have a hologram of yourself (I am apparently having my next baby in 2114).

And I couldn't be more pleased, because the thing is growing already.  YOU FEED IT AND IT GROWS.  Science!  We had a doctor's appointment yesterday and she's already gained back an ounce from her hospital weight.  An ounce.  What a precocious fatty.

I mean, maybe she'll be petite forever, but she is more likely to develop elegant neck rolls for me to wipe the milk out of (she drinks like a frat boy, but she also holds her drink like a frat boy, which is to say, in her lap), and as much as I'm looking forward to filling out the wrinkles in her elephant legs (fat babies are the cutest babies), I know I'm going to want to remember her skinny-chicken-wing stage.

All of which is to say, many diaper-clad photos.

I have been sliced and diced.

Ok so the c-section.  I always joked that I'd totally end up having one, because Krueger babies are LARGE babies (Joel was 10 lbs 2 and his little sister was ALMOST 12 LBS) and they have large heads and I am regular-sized, particularly about the hips.  But Dr Ross kept telling me I was having a nice, medium-sized baby and now we see her with her skinny chicken wings and teeny round head and I think, I could have pushed that out.

And I'd been in prodromal labor for a week by the time we went into the hospital on Saturday morning, and even though I was having surrious contractions I wasn't dilated at all, so they sent us home to go have a shower and watch more Parks & Rec.  When we came back hours later and I was all EGADS MY WOMB IT RENDS ITSELF I was still only dilated maybe a centimeter.  What I'm saying is, things were progressing slowly.

Anywert, when my water finally broke there was meconium (i.e. baby poops) in the fluid, which means that something has happened to give her the Stressed Poos in there.  It's not usually a big deal, but she also had a heart deceleration, which put everyone on the alert.

When she had another heart deceleration and I was only dilated 3 cm, probably still 10 hours or so from delivering, they decided to go in and fetch her out before her heart rate plummeted and stayed down.  One prefers an orderly, leisurely c-section to a c-section in which people are shouting things like 'stat.'

I  was super-high for all of this because they had given me some sleeping pills when they'd sent me home and I am a notoriously slow metabolizer of drugs (I was Incredibly Sentient for my entire wisdom-tooth-extraction but have completely misplaced the hour that followed).  I am also really wonky when it comes to being prodded and sliced, pain entirely aside, but the pills made me flippant and probably inappropriately blithe.

They also make my memories of that whole day a little hazy, but I remember being distinctly relieved when they announced a baby girl.  Every store clerk and aqua-fit senior since I started to show has told me that I was carrying a boy, and sketchy Russian ultrasound techs that you find on the internet can be wrong.  Joel went to cut the cord and then brought her back to me, swaddled and weirdly alert, so that I could kiss her face.  Most of my skin-parts were behind the blue curtain being manhandled, so he held her cheek to my cheek until they took me away.

Then the pills kicked in and I slept and awoke in recovery, and this is the worst part about the c-section, worse than the stitches and the inability to roll over in bed or lift my baby out of the bassinet, because I missed the introductions.  I missed everyone meeting Eleanor and my parents seeing their first grandbaby and this may be the hormones speaking (my hormones are loud and clamouring) but if I keep thinking about this I'll cry.  I cried in recovery because everyone was out in the waiting room and my baby was in the nursery and they wouldn't let me leave until I could move my legs and feel the ice packs.

So I lied.  I lied about feeling the ice packs, and I moved one leg voluntarily and the other out of sheer perversity, because it was still completely numb, and then they let me go.  I had a 3-person room, because who can afford private rooms these days, but I had it to myself so there was plenty of room for all the freshly-minted grandparents and aunties and uncles to visit.

And then they brought me my baby and I held her and kissed her skinny chicken neck.  It is her kissablest part, out of many kissable parts.

'Bout time.

So, if we're not facebook friends and you don't follow Joel's one-track Instagram feed, you might not be aware, but we figured that since we didn't have any really thrilling New Year's Eve plans that we'd go ahead and have this baby.

Eleanor Constance Loretta, 6 lbs 9 oz

I'd blog the whole thing chronologically, but you guys know how little the parents of newborns sleep (or you've read enough STFU Parents to know and also I'm putting all of you an alert to warn me when I become That Parent.  Cool?) so I'm a little scattered.

So let's just go with what I remember right now, which is that she was super-accommodating and came on New Year's Eve, so that I could go to All The Holiday Things without having to bring her and my huge, weird boobs (I have huge, weird boobs now) and my c-section incision and my inability to walk around gracefully.

She was pulled out squalling at 4:12 pm, so that everyone could come check her out and coo over her and still make their evening plans, but no one (not even me) had to get up at, like, 2 am to go into contractions or catch her or anything.

Coming on New Year's Eve also meant that Joel still had two days off school and could hang out with us in the hospital all day Sunday and then bring us home on Monday (ps: I would like to go on record saying that Joel has been amazing, and that you should all be so lucky).

Well done, El.  Please be this compliant when you are 15 and I want you to get your ass to school on time.

Things I Am Excited About

Or, Reasons I Don't Want To Have This Baby Yet, Because Doing Things Is Way Easier With Her In Self-Watering Mode:

Lunch with our friends Grayson and Caley tomorrow, whom we have not seen since, I'm going to say, July.

Dinner with our friends Carl and Anna and their two hilarious children tomorrow (Gemma makes me feel like I am Very Good With Children, when really she is just Very Good With Adults).

Lunch on Friday with my Fun Friend Alicia Who Is Going To Med School Far Away, as well as Anna (again!  So much Anna!) and Fritha who I haven't seen since, oh, let's say, September.

Probably we will go for at least one walk along the Vedder River, which is lovely and weirdly full of eagles (the walk, not the river).

Christmas Eve service, in which we try to find a Church That Doesn't Butcher The Carols In The Name Of Cool, Because We Just Want To Sing Along And Don't Care For Your Guitar Soloing.

Chinese food after the Christmas Eve service, in which we cheerfully complain about the carols and the butchering thereof.

Stockings on Christmas morning.  Also, Joel's mom's eggs benedict.

Spiral ham for Christmas dinner.  Ham is disgusting, people.  It is slimy and fleshy and tastes like undercooked bacon.  The only serviceable ham is a spiral ham, and that is TO DIE for.

More presents on Boxing Day morning.  Also, my mom's eggs benedict.  With leftover spiral ham.  And probably we will watch Spartacus or Planet of the Apes or The Ten Commandments or whatever else Charlton Heston movie is on A&E.

Extended Joel-family gathering on the 27th, in which there will be mashed yams with cheese, and carol singing.

Extended my-family gathering on the 28th, in which there will be that game where you steal the presents and everyone is ruthless about it.

New Year's Eve.

And then ok yes, we can have a baby.

The festivus beginneth!

I know, sometimes this blog devolves into Things I Ate While I Did Stuff.  But you know how I feel about holidays (hungry), so don't expect that to change soon.

Joel came home Saturday and we went to the German Christmas market with his family and he had the currywurst and I had the weisswurst which I NEVER would have ordered if I'd been looking at it because it is The Zombie Hot Dog (i.e. it is dead-flesh-colored) so I will spare you a photo but it was veal and pork and that is DELICIOUS and instead, here is a nutcracker.

And then Joel had a pretzel and I had a waffle on a stick because I make more delicious choices.

And then we took this photo, which we take every year.

Tradition!  And then we had a baked apple YOU GUYS.  Baked apples.  With hot vanilla sauce.  Somebody bring me another one.

And I sampled some pickled garlic and it was weirdly amazing and I WASN'T THE ONLY ONE WHO THOUGHT SO.

And then last night we went to the VanDusen Botanical Garden Festival of Lights with my family and Joel and I had never been and it was OVERWHELMING.

But festively.  Lights!

And music!

And mini-donuts and cider and hot chocolate!

And the Mistletoe Monster!

Let the non-stop celebrating continue apace!

New Bewts.

I needed new Serious Business Boots because my old ones

(these ones)

have lost a lot of the insides and now they eat my ankles and make me bleed.  So.

I freaking love Sorels.  I can't even tell you.  But Serious Business Boots are for the three times a year it snows plus the one time it sleet-snows and then the one time we go sledding.  I cannot spend $200 on boots on the best of days, let alone boots I wear five times a year (for the next forever).

But then today I was in the Old Navy picking up a Christmas gift and I saw a decently Sorel-ly pair for $70.

$70 is still too much.  YOU GUYS.  So much money.  But I thought to myself, I will wait until Boxing Week and I will remember that these are here and then I will come back and hope they still have my size.

And then I saw the All Boots 60% Off sign.

$27 is ok by me.  Let it snow now.

They can't all be winners.

I'm starting to think my Pies and Tarts cookbook might be kind of terrible.  Every recipe I've made from it so far has been either DIFFICULT or LABOR-INTENSIVE, and none of them has been azmazing.

The Crème Brûlée Tart was no exception, and what's WORSE is that if they'd thrown in one extra step, it would have been a thousand times easier and there'd be less brûlée on the bottom of the oven.  Oooh, and it would be in the tart still, which would help with the crust-brûlée ratio!

action shot!  I am badass at stuff

Because ultimately, the crust is just there to operate as an edible bowl, not to equal half the dish.  Maybe I need a deeper tart pan.

Regardless, it was very pretty

and easier to serve up than a traditional brûlée

but sacrificed the this-is-just-custard-and-sugar simplicity that makes brûlée So Very Good.

(This is not to say that I didn't come home and eat the last piece just now, or that I didn't enjoy it.  It's EGGS and CREAM and SUGAR and then you TORCH it.  Come on.)

I could brûlée all day.

My Fun Friend Alicia got into med school, which is awesome for her but terrible for me because she got into med school in the Caribbean (which, despite sounding like earning a degree online, is Actually Legit) and takes off very shortly, leaving me with fewer fun people within shouting distance.

Anywert, I took her to Pied-à-Terre for Fancy French Appies and Fancy French Desserts to celebrate and she had never had crème brûlée so we fixed that.  And at one point she's like, Amazing, obviously, but is this a particularly good crème brûlée and I was like, Well, yes, but it's almost never bad.  It's baked custard, for crying out loud, with a burnt sugar crust.

And then last night my book club met at the Six Acres Café in Gastown and, after our usual poutine and popcorn and mac & cheese (with a gorgonzola hot pot thrown in for variety) we turned to the desserts.  And there were five of us in the Dessert Camp and five desserts on the menu, so we got One Of Each.

Whatever, you love pictures of my food.  They are, from top left, a crème brûlée (obvs), a lemon tart with whipped cream and raspberry coulis, a sundae with dulce de leche and candied nuts, chocolate cookies with caramel whipped cream, and the feature dessert, a cranberry-apple streusel on a custard base.

elapsed time: 38 seconds

Myarm.

I had planned dessert for tonight's Thursday Night Dinner earlier in the week and I see no point in changing it, even though it's a Crème Brûlée Tart.  All the custardy burnt sugarness of crème brûlée in an easy-to-serve buttery crust.  I'll let you know  how that goes.

The indignity.

When I want to roll over in bed, I have to slide a hand under my belly and flip myself like a pancake.

I get that if I had a car I wouldn't have this problem.

Dear bus driver,

I'm sure, as a bus driver, that you know a lot about driving the bus.  But as someone who TAKES the bus, I know a lot about taking buses, and I'm not totally sure you do.

I'm not sure you know, for example, that the bus you are driving is, for most of the people on that bus, the sole way they have of getting where they are going.  Like work.  Or class.  Or aqua-fit.  And I'm not sure you realize that if you drive a fairly infrequent bus, like the 110, the ramifications for you not picking up a passenger are slightly more dire than if you drive, say, the 99, which comes every two minutes.  Waiting an extra half hour makes you LATE for shit.

And I'm not sure you realize that my aqua-fit class is what keeps me from feeling bad about all those scones I ate yesterday.  NOW I HAVE TO FEEL BAD ABOUT THOSE SCONES, bus driver.

And I get that your bus was full-ish, but the bus at this time is ALWAYS full-ish.  Every other bus driver has found a way to pull over and let me on.  Usually they get on the horn and ask everyone to move back because, and you might be new to this, there is always room at the back of the bus.  The back of the bus is like Northern Saskatchewan.

Next week the pool near my house re-opens, and I can get there on my own legs and will no longer need your bus-driving services.

Checking things off.

I scratched 'eat a wild animal' off of my life list tonight, although the elk that I ate was almost certainly not wild.  I would still like to eat something that was, you know, shot the other day, but this was a tasty start.

Crows are the bats of the bird family.

Back when I used to do zumba (so, last week.  I think I am probably done now) I would meet Alicia at the gas station and we would drive out to Surrey for class, and I was always one bus early to meet her because I am COMPULSIVELY PUNCTUAL so I always have ten minutes or so to wait and it would always be right at Crow Time.

I couldn't even begin to capture how many crows, because I would just keep showing you the same photo over and over and being like, and this is ten seconds later, and this is ten seconds after that.

It seriously looks like this from the time I get there to the time I leave.  It isn't even a murder, it's a MURDER of murders.  THOUSANDS of crows, I can't even.  Where are they going?

It's secretly kind of awesome.

Loan saga.

I FILED AWAY my Repaying Student Loans file yesterday because I have been APPROVED for not making any payments out of our non-income for the next six months.  VICTOIRE!

But.  So you can't apply for repayment assistance until you have signed your loan consolidation form, but even though I went online and changed our address last summer WELL before we moved, they still sent the loan consolidation form to Victoria.  When I phoned in September to see where it was, I changed my address again with the girl on the phone, and they re-sent the form.

To Victoria again.

I phoned a few weeks later to see where it was, and changed my address AGAIN, and then phoned back two days later to make sure it had been sent to the right address.  MEANWHILE.  I filled out the application form for repayment assistance, wrote the required letter explaining how I live on no income, and FAXED these things in along with a void cheque.

The void cheque is important, because the application was first and the void cheque was last and the letter was IN THE MIDDLE, but when I phoned a few days later to check on the status of my application (I became an extremely diligent phoner) they were all, We just need a letter explaining how you live on no income.  And I was like, DUDES I SENT IT.  And I can see losing the tail end of something or the first page of something but you think the stuff in the middle is safe.

Anywert, I faxed it off again, received my loan consolidation form, mailed that PRIORITY because by now it was late October and my repayment period began in November, and tracked it.  I sent it on a Monday, CanadaPost marked it as having arrived on the Wednesday, I phoned in on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday to see if it had arrived.

On Friday she was still telling me that a form takes two business days to make it into my file, and that even though almost three full business days had elapsed, I should phone back on Monday.  Monday arrived, NO FORM!  So I talked to a supervisor and he gave me a fax number and I faxed in the duplicate copy I had been sent for my files, waited two days, and phoned in again.

FOR THE FIRST TIME I talked to a gal who is like, No, neither of your forms are here, and that is weird.  Damn right it's weird.  Because I MAILED one and FAXED one and STOP LOSING MY STUFF THIS IS IMPORTANT.  My payments are $700/month, and (needless to say) without an income I cannot make them.

So the helpful gal acquired me a new supervisor who was like, This has been happening to a few people.  But here, fax it to THIS fax number RIGHT NOW, and I will go STAND BY THE MACHINE and when it comes through I will mark it as received in your file, and then forward it on to the appropriate parties.

So I DID and the next day I phoned in and ALL THE PARTS OF MY APPLICATION WERE THERE.  I did a hooting dance and sat down to wait the five business days for it to process, which expired YESTERDAY at which point I received a letter informing me that I will not have to make any payments until April, at which point I can feel free to perform the whole song and dance again.

I will take it, and gladly.

She is ruining my hilarious old-people time.

Ok so I've been doing Aqua-fit because LOLZ and also because I like cookies + not being fat, which ultimately = exercise.

ANYway.  My pool is closing for three weeks, which is a side-complaint and not the point, and today was my last class before the closure, and it was taught by THAT GIRL THAT I DON'T LIKE.  Because there's the ONE girl who teaches every day at 9:30, so whichever days I decide to go I go in that time slot because she is excellent.

And then last Friday because of the holiday but also THIS Friday because WHO KNOWS that OTHER girl was teaching, and ok.  The one girl trusts me to not over-exert myself, and will be like, You can do this or to make things harder you can do this.  The other girl will be like, If you aren't feeling up to it today, or if you are pregnant, you can do this.  Otherwise, do this.

And the things she assumes I can't do are weirdly things that I can TOTALLY do, like frog-jumps (you...uh...you jump?  And bring your legs up to either side like a frog?  You basically leap-frog the water).  Frog-jumps were custom-made for the bellied, because your legs go to the sides where your belly is not.  But then during the ab work, she says to me, If this is too difficult for you then you can just lie back and bring your knees into your chest when HAHA CLEARLY I CANNOT.  That is, in fact, one thing I can't do.  Your eyes should be able to tell you that.

Which, ok, aqua-fit is what they tell you do to when you are pregnant.  ERGO, part of the training probably has to do with How To Deal With The Pregnant.  My first class with the girl I like, she comes to me beforehand and is like, When we're doing this you can do it this way or that way, and here's how you can work around your belly, and make sure you stay in the deeper water to cushion your girth, etc.  But this OTHER girl has no idea what to do with this Pregnant Thing in her class (I think I stress her out a little), and also does not understand basic physics.

But when she looks right at me and is like, If you are pregnant don't do this, I feel bad being like, I know better than you, child.  Which is how I would feel if I just did the thing anyways, so I usually do squats or whatever she tells me to do, even though doing squats in the water is the NEXT CLOSEST THING TO DOING NOTHING.  And I must give her A Look because today she's like, After you have that baby you can do all the frog-jumps you want.

ALSO her routines are super-boring, because she only has, like, six moves and we just do them over and over, AND she's not loud enough to be heard over the music, AND she doesn't shout motivationally at us, AND she doesn't wear a sports bra under her bathing suit so I sort of feel bad for her boobs whenever she's demonstrating things out of the water.  But mostly its the squats I hate.

Six weeks and counting.

When I get my body back (and not, like, my sexy body, but the body of which I am the sole inhabitant) I will:

- drink a beer
- dye my hair
- do a sit-up
- eat all manner of dubious street-meats
- and what else?

I am doing terribly at this.

Yesterday we did All The Things and then today we had All The People over to watch the footballs.  Also, I MADE footballs.

They were filled with oreo.  And cream cheese.

You wish.

Still good!

Sneaking in with an eleventh-hour post!  Look at me nablopomo.  Except that I have nothing really to tell you.  Um.  Oh yes, I am WINNING at LIFE.  I will tell you about my student loan saga another day when I'm not so sleepy, but so the dishwasher was leaking for REASONS UNKNOWN and the threat of hand-washing loomed LARGE but I fixed it.  And by 'fixed it' I mean my dad figured out the problem, and the problem was me, and I am MUCH MORE EASILY FIXED than a dishwasher.

I will carry on being reckless with the number of forks I use.

I cannot handle the TINY-NESS of these things.

On Sunday my mom threw the fetus a party, and my aunties and my cousins came, and my in-laws and my sister and her in-laws, and my neighbor and her daughter and my Robyn (between two night shifts) and my Laura (who drove all the way from Abbotsford) and now the fetus has enough party dresses to last her at least a year.

Gifts ranged from the practical

to the delightfully impractical

and if she ends up accidentally being a he, he is going to have nothing to wear.  Except maybe this leopard-print number.

There's something about tiny hats and tiny shoes, because people can't not buy them.  I now have loads of both, and I will not complain because AIEEE SO TINY.  Also, I want to roll around in a heap of swaddling blankets.

Mum asked the internet what our babies would look like, and the internet spat out THIS, which is why you never ask the internet anything.

I was looking at these pictures later with Joel, and I was like, Holy cats, I am so pregnant.  Because I can't usually see myself except top-down, and from up here my belly is overshadowed by my ridiculous breasts.  But lo, I am pregnant indeed.

7 more weeks(ish), yo.

NaBloPoMo Redux

Hee hee, oh my.  THAT lasted a whopping day before I fell off the wagon.

And now it's late and I am a-sleepy, but I will have an actual post for you tomorrow. For now, rest easy in the knowledge that deep-fried pickles are not just a gimmick

but are, in fact

ridiculicious.

(This is not just the pregnancy talking, as even the girl who doesn't like pickles liked the deep-fried pickles.  The smoked-jalapeno ranch probably helped.)

A week late, a dollar short.

Remember, remember in past Novembers when the NaNoWriMo people have written a novel in a month and we NaBloPoMo people have contented ourselves with blog-posting every day for a month?  I had sort of forgotten about that until just right now, but!  Let's give it a go, yes?

It balances out all the mini-Oh Henry!s I have eaten/am about to eat.

I have been doing Zumba with a girlfriend for the past four weeks or so, since right around the time when I had to stop running, and it. is. hilarious.  It's mostly made up of very sexy dance moves, or straight-up aerobic moves scuttled to look like very sexy dance moves (at one point Alicia and I turn to each other and are like, We are not fooled.  These are just jumping jacks).

And any chance I had of being uncomfortable doing sexy dance moves in a well-lit, highly-mirrored room on a Tuesday morning is eradicated by the company I keep (several older Asian women, occasionally one dude in his late 40s who obviously comes with his wife, two East Indian women who have got to be in their 50s) and by my hilarious belly.  I have added at least a quarter of my former self ONTO myself and am splendidly large.  It makes my boob-shimmy highly effective.

ALL THAT TO SAY Alicia works Tuesdays now, and while I could feasibly bus my way out to Surrey for Zumba, I am much more likely to hit up the Aqua-fit just up the road.  AQUA-FIT!  I used to aqua-size with a girlfriend when I went to UBC, and we would laugh about having the corner on the young, able-bodied, non-pregnant market.  NO MORE.  Now it's just seniors and the slightly infirm and my fat self.

And everyone says that being in water when you are massively pregnant (seriously.  Massive.  I have two more months bigger to get HOW IS THIS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE) helps take the strain off your back and they are not wrong.  I am buoyant.  However.  No one mentions the sudden and debilitating resurgence of gravity when you get out of the pool.  I have never felt so heavy in my life.