Urban Drool

Well. That last entry was great fun, wasn't it?

Thank you so much everyone for the reading and commenting and e-mailing and supporting and loving and "We are here for you Lumi" -ing. It was a difficult entry to write and an even more difficult entry to actually publish. It feels a bit like a scab that I am just now starting to pick at - a nasty little infected scab that has been sitting and festering for the past 13 weeks.

I know that I need to expel these demons at some point. I am toying with the idea of some therapy. Or maybe I'll just play the "sit around and see if it gets better" game. I haven't decided yet. The Boy does what he can, but I get the feeling that he doesn't quite get 100% what this feels like. It's not his fault. I think he is suffering under a combination of
a) not really being able to relate because he does not have the physical ties to the day of Lucy's birth that I do and
b) avoiding really talking about it becuase he harbors his fair share of emotional trauma from the whole thing as well. After all, it was he that had to stand there helplessly and watch me get banged up by the labor, suffer through the C-Section and then hold our newborn baby while I bled and bled and...bled.

But GAH!!...enough of that. I didn't want to re-hash all that shit today. No...today is for fun and squeee-ness and Lucy pictures. The boy has tons of pictures of the pickle on his site, and I REFUSE to let him show me up in this arena.

So...batten down the hatches and get ready for the Most Adorable Pickle In All Pickle-dom.



Here she is at a mere 5 minutes old. Some random nurse in the Operating Room took this picture. She is trying very hard to have her first poop.



This is one week later, about 1 hour after we arrived home. I carried her straight into our bedroom, undressed her from her icky-hospital garb, put this (entirely too large) outfit on her and took her damn picture. It was one of the first "normal" things I had done for her.



...and then we took a nap, because getting born and almost dying is really fucking tiring.



Here we are snuggling after a nursing. Because being born and almost dying also makes you very hungry.



We like to sleep in a great big pink-stripped bag.



We also like to show that we are totally punk-rock, and that our Auntie Pru is the only one who really understands great style.



We try to go on walks every night, so that mom can lose the (100 and) 15 extra pounds that she needs to lose. Ha!



Dad likes to live dangerously and prop me up with pillows and take goofy pictures of me after mom has gone to bed. Becuase Mom? Would totally never allow such things to occur on her watch.



...but it's OK becuase then dad and I take naps together while mom takes goofy pictures of us.



Mr. Harold used to be the baby until the Pickle kicked his ass to the curb. He is still deciding how he feels about the whole thing, but feels that he can emotionally commit to at least "babysitter" status for now, even if it will take him awhile to work his way up to "protective older brother."



We only had to dance and yell frantically for 13 mintues straight in order to get THAT smile to take THAT picture.



Lucy doesn't understand what all the fuss is about. She could have totally held up her head AGES ago if she had felt like doing it.



Again with the camera? You people wear me the fuck out.

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And there she is! So far, anyway. I think we'll keep her.