Ain't no party like a PK party!

So besides having her umbilical cord fall off, yesterday was also a big day for Greta because she had her first play date. Correction, it was not a date, Greta is not allowed to date. It was a play meeting. Yeah, that's the ticket - a meeting. Greta had a play meeting.
Her play partner was Jason. He is not her "future boyfriend" or any such nonsense, he is just a play partner. You may have seen comments posted from Jason's mommy on this blog under the alias "Jason's Mommy." Jason's daddy is Pastor Scott, my colleague. Anyhow, yesterday they met for the first time.
To call what took place a "play date" is still a bit of a stretch. Jason got to be the first to try out some of Greta's new toys while Greta slept. And yes, she slept . . . the whole time. It was still fun to get the two together and see how at least Jason responded. He was interested briefly in Greta, but mostly in Jersey and the brightly colored FisherPrice stuff. At the end of the visit Greta got propped up in the chair and we took the pictures above of the two of them. She slept through that too. Apparently the only thing more dull than a party for pastors is a party for pastors' kids. But at least the grownups had fun. Oh jeez, did I just call myself a grownup?
Anyway, Greta slept through just about everything yesterday. In fact the only thing she didn't sleep through was the hours between 11 pm to 4 am. What a gal!

She's Wi-Fi!

Okay, so maybe not wi-fi, but Greta is now cordless. That's right today is the day you've all been waiting for, praying for, holding your breath for . . . Greta lost her umbilical cord. Actually she didn't loose it, it just sorta fell off when Eleanor was talking off one of her tops (yes, she pooped on another shirt; surprise, surprise).

It happened like this. Today was my first day back on the job. This week I'm working, but doing it from home so I can still help out when needed. Ellie and I had just finished lunch and I was in the kitchen cleaning up. Eleanor took Greta upstairs to change her dipe. A few minutes later I heard Eleanor yelling, "Tah! Tah!" (translation: "Ty! Ty!"). I ran up the stairs thinking something awful had happened. I burst into the nursery and Eleanor was extending her arm holding the poor child's onesie while looking away. "Here. Here" she said, "Take this! Her umbilical cord is somewhere in there." At that point I thought, "What! Somewhere in there? Can't you find it? We're not talking about a needle in a haystack, more like a raisin in a pillowcase." But I didn't say that. So I looked down through the neck of the onesie and eureka! There it was, kinda caught on the side. "Ew! You get it, I don't want to" she said. So I did. I shook it out, it fell on the floor and then I tried to chase Eleanor around the nursery with it (it's funny, she has the same reaction to my toenail clippings). Anyway, from there it went into the biohazard locker we call the Diaper Champ where it can no longer hurt or haunt anyone. Greta didn't seem to be bothered in the least by the whole affair. I think she's just happy that her clothes don't snag anymore. There's still a little bit of cord left, but that should fall out shortly.

I had a meeting tonight and while I was away Eleanor took some risque pictures of Greta and her navel. The pics are above.

Rama Jama Yella' Hamma', Give 'em Love 'Bama Gramma

Today's blog is dedicated to the grandparents, especially Grandma Sarah who left today.
When Eleanor's water broke two weeks ago today we called all of the grandparents. 'Bama Gramps, Grandma Sarah and Grandma Marmo all got on planes and came out that day. Nobody knew it at the time, but they would all end up making it in time for Greta's birth because the labor lasted so long.
Since that night Grandma Sarah, aka, the 'Bama Gramma, the Post-Partum Angel, Grandmutha and Grandmother Cupper has not left our side until today. At 2:00 this afternoon, with a tearful goodbye, Grandma Sarah and I left for the airport.
Right now I want to publicly thank Sarah for her love and attention the past two weeks. She has washed all our clothes, gone to the grocery store, folded and put away our clothes, cooked our meals, got up at 4:30 every morning to rock Greta, made fresh coffee every morning, changed countless diapers, taken us shopping, swept our floors, drawn Eleanor baths and even responded kindly to everyone who has asked, "Where you from?" Grandma Sarah, I don't know what we would have done without you. Thank you for your tireless work and love. I don't know if Greta is more blessed to have you as a grandmother, or if I am to have you as a mother-in-law. Thank you. We love you.
-Ty



Here are a few pics of the 'Bama Gramma and the Jersey Girl.

'Bama Gramma Pics

The Trail of Smears

There's a disturbing trend that has surfaced in the past two days. It seems that something unfortunate happens to me whenever Eleanor and Sarah leave me alone with the baby. Let me share two examples.

ACT ONE:
Yesterday was a big day for Greta, Eleanor, Grandma and myself. We decided that we'd all been cooped up too long in the house and that we needed some fresh air. Our pediatrician said that Greta could go out in public for walks as long as she didn't have close contact with other people. So, since it was a cool day yesterday, we decided to head over to the Freehold Mall for a leisurely stroll. We weren't shopping for anything, just out for a walk and a bite to eat.
On the way to the mall we stopped at Chick-fil-a for lunch. As we sat in the booth and ate I glanced over at the indoor play area in the restaurant. The play area had a large apparatus that kids could climb on and crawl through. There were lots of tubes and tunnels and there were half a dozen kids inside squealing and having a blast. It looked like fun, but I thought to myself, "man, with all of those kids crawling through there with messy chicken nugget hands, that has got to be the most unsanitary play area imaginable." And with that thought I nearly lost my appetite; not because I was concerned about Greta and playgrounds she'll be on in the future, but that I just had a "dad" moment. Before Jan. 14 it would have never dawned on me that there were germs in the Chick-fil-a playzone, but now I wanted to nuke the playzone with Purell so that none of those greasy faced kids could spread ebola. I like being a dad, but it will take some getting used to.

ACT TWO:
After lunch we got the mall and we took our stroll. We stopped in the usual Eleanor places like Ann Taylor and Nordstrom, but we had our real fun at Macy's. While in the women's department, Greta and I decided to wander a bit while the ladies shopped for a new top for Eleanor. All had been going well at the mall until this point because Greta was sound asleep. But there was something about Macy's the Greta didn't like. Maybe it was the John Mayer song playing, maybe it was the smell from the fragrance and makeup department below, but something woke Greta and she started to fuss. I picked her up and patted her bottom and I could tell she had a wet diaper. I then wheeled her back to Eleanor and Sarah and told them that I was going to take Greta and the diaper bag to the men's room, but I was leaving the stroller with then because I didn't think that the cumbersome stroller would park well along side the urinals. By this time the fussing had turned to tears and the tears were becoming screams. She was not happy and I was about to find out why. I hurriedly grabbed the diaper bag, picked up Greta and headed off to the men's room. Now she was howling and John Mayer was inaudible under Greta's dreadful screams. Now picture this, I'm jogging through the women's lingerie department with a screaming baby and a lovely purse-looking diaper bag with a dainty pink, Asian, floral print. As I'm cruising past a mother and her children I pause to look up for the sign pointing me in the direction of the restrooms. Just then, in the silence of that pause, Greta gives me a wink and a brief smile and then rips the biggest gas to date. The sound is low, it is loud and everyone in the department who wasn't staring already looks at me. Now as I mentioned a few days ago, Greta's gas is really impressive and it does NOT sound like something that would come from a seven pound baby. Thus, all the lingerie shoppers think that I ran into their department just to drop a dirty bomb. I hear a gasp or two and I get several nasty looks - the kind that say, "You crude neanderthal" and "Go pass gas elsewhere you heathen."

Just when I didn't think things could get any worse I felt something running down my arm. I think, "this can't be happening to me" but it is. I look down and there it is. Baby mustard is now running down my hand, between the links on my watchband and quickly approaching my elbow. By this time I find the entrance to the bathroom and we dash, full speed to the door.

ACT THREE:
For you women reading the blog, you think you know what men's rooms are like, but you don't. Without exception, they are nasty. Nasty, nasty, nasty, nasty. It doesn't matter whether you are in the lobby of Rockefeller Center or at a gas station, the bathroom will be stinky, sticky and dirty. Period.
So here we are in the men's room at Macy's. Just so you know, the difference between the men's room at the Texaco station and Macy's is that at Macy's the urine is all over a marble floor instead of a concrete one. Now, bearing in mind my recent penchant for sterility, I was appalled, though not surprised, with the condition of the men's room. But I had poop running down my arm and a crying baby in my hands so I didn't have too much time to care. I set Greta down on the filthy counter, fumbled with the zipper on the diaper bag and reached in with my clean hand to try to find the wet wipes. I got them out, cleaned off my hands, removed my watch, rolled up my poopy sleeve and then took care of my absolutely miserable child (I was in awe of the acoustics in the Macy's men's room - the marble really enhances the sound of screaming baby). After the longest diaper changing in history, we were set to leave. We packed up the diaper bag, I got Greta back in my arms and we were out the door to find mom because now Greta was hungry and starting to fuss again. As we were leaving the lingerie department I noticed something on the floor. Had somebody dropped mustard? There were several spots going along the walkway.
No, it was just our trail of smears.

Today's event-
ONE ACT:
This morning Greta was asleep after a feeding and all was well. Eleanor wanted to pick up something at the pharmacy and since Greta didn't show any signs of waking up, we though, why not? No sooner had Eleanor pulled out of the driveway then I heard Greta fussing. I went up to the nursery, held her in my arms and tried to calm her. We paced her room a bit and then came downstairs. We had just sat down on the couch when I looked over and saw Jersey give me a funny look. He then walked to the center of our Oriental rug (probably the nicest thing we own) and started to heave. Nothing was coming out yet, but I knew it would soon, so I reached down and grabbed him. With Greta in my left arm and Jersey in my right I tossed him onto the hardwood floor. Now I've got a crying baby, a puking dog and a wife who's at the drug store. Just then, with an angelic entrance worthy of trumpet fanfare, Grandma Sarah emerged at the top of the stairs. She swooped down to take the babe from my arms and I was freed to clean up dog vomit - all before noon.

Thank goodness for paternity leave.

My Little Poser

First of all, thank you for signing on again after yesterday's blog movement. I forgot to mention that I dedicated that entry to 'Bama Gramps, aka the PooPa, and known around Florence as the Pooparazzi (thanks Dan). I was pooped when I wrote it, so my judgement may have been a bit crappy. But alas, it now has passed. So let's wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Today's entry is all about Greta, the little poser. Several times each day one of us will look at Greta, either awake or sleeping and say, "Gee, don't you think she looks like _____?" We'll today I've complied a group of famous pictures and then Greta imitating them. Tell me what you think.

By the way, I've heard once again that some folks don't know how to post a comment on this blog. It's very easy. Just scroll down to the bottom of today's post and then click where it says the number of comments. It will take you to a page where you can post your comment on the right hand side of the page and then sign your name. Voila! Oh, and some people didn't know who Mr. Hankey is - you're probably a better person for that. Type his name into www.Youtube.com if you dare.

Enjoy the pics.
-Tyler

Poser Pics Continued

Poser Pics

Poser Pics

More Poser Pics

Living in a stool boom

Disclaimer Today's blog is all about poop, albeit baby poop, but poop nevertheless. If you are offended by such talk, please enjoy the pictures above and come back again tomorrow for a less crappy topic. But seriously, don't read any further.

Now, for those of you who have bravely chosen to proceed, I have to tell you all about the fascinating phenomenon that took place the night before last. First of all you should know, if you don't already, that baby poop comes in different stages, particularly when the baby is breast fed. The first few days the baby's poop looks like a mixture of tar and pancake syrup. It's called meconium and it looks somethin' awful, but get this, it has no odor. (For those interested in learning more about meconium you can find an entry under the Wikipedia category, "feces" between the entries for "manure" and "Mr. Hankey."

After the meconium phase the next type of stool is yellowish and more runny, like the first squirt of French's after removing the mustard plug. Greta is in this stage now. After feeding it's only a matter of minutes before she starts to let 'em rip. Her flatulence is truly a force to be reckoned with. Her gas is very audible and hardly what you'd expect from such a tiny, sweet little thing like Greta.

So anyway, about the other night . . .

Grandma Sarah has been sleeping in our guest room, which is adjacent to Greta's nursery. It's a great spot for her because she can hear Greta if she utters even a peep. That night El had put Greta to sleep after her wee wee hour feeding and we'd all gone to bed. By the time I woke up the next morning around 7:30 Grandma Sarah was already downstairs with Greta. I was a little surprised to see them because I didn't think Greta was up yet. See, we have pretty fancy baby monitor by our bed and I hear all of the high pitched peeps that Greta makes during the night. It seemed unlikely that Greta got restless and woke Grandma Sarah with her crying. When I asked Grandma Sarah what had happened, she told me that Greta had woken her up around five. I asked if she had been crying because I didn't hear it. She said, "No. It was her farting!" That's right, Greta's low frequency gas stealthily went undetected by the baby monitor yet the low vibrations were enough to wake a sleeping grandma!

Last night something else happened. During the day I had assembled a new vaporizer in Greta's nursery. Before dinner I'd gone up to her room to turn it on so the room wouldn't be so dry by the time we put Greta to bed. At any rate, Last night I had the early shift (10pm-1am) and I'd tucked Greta in early. I went downstairs to work on the computer and I brought the monitor with me. This time I turned it up nice and loud just in case Greta got super gassy and I could hear her before she woke up Grandma. I was just settling into my emails when all of the sudden the monitor exploded with sound. The noise nearly jolted me out of my seat. It was this bubbly, awful din that I thought must be the worst diarrhea in the history of baby poop. Just as I was about to rush upstairs to see if there was anything left of the crib I realized that it was the vaporizer gurgling water like a Culligan bottle.

Ah, false alarm. And the crib is fine.

The bottom picture is of Greta making her "O" face. We figured out that she makes this face whenever she's going number two.

Check again tomorrow as I pass along another blog movement, uh, I mean entry. In the meantime, here's a book I recommend: http://www.kanemiller.com/book.asp?sku=25&sc=1

Le Miserable

By popular demand, today's blog is all about Jersey, our fur child, and how he's coping with all of the changes. For those who don't know Jersey, he is our spoiled little Frenchman; a four year old Bichon Frise. His name is Jersey, but he also responds to Jerz, Little Man, Mister and Bichon Valjean.

All during the pregnancy we knew that Jerz was going to have a difficult time with Greta's arrival. After all, he has been the recipient of our parental energies for the past four years. After Greta was born I brought home a swaddling blanket from the hospital and let Jerz smell it. He was only mildly interested, but things got better. When we brought her home he was more curious, smelling her and even giving her a lick or two on the head. Whenever Greta cries, Jersey is right there by her side. It's hard to tell if he wants to help stop the crying or if he's just, as 'Bama Gramps would say, "tow up" (tore up - for you Yankees out there). Last night I had to run over to church around 9:00. I came back about ten minutes later and everyone had gone upstairs to bed. As I was shuffling around downstairs I heard Jerz at the top of the stairs growling at me. Clearly he was protecting his new little friend from whoever had come in the back door. I was proud of him.

Jersey is still struggling a bit though. His breed has been bred to be lap dogs. Now that Greta is the main lap attraction, he's a little put out. He also really, really wants Greta's squeaky dragonfly toy. We put it up on the table yesterday and he stared at it and cried for thirty minutes until we put it out of sight. Jersey is a dog that likes to be "in the mix." He's always shadowing and snuggling us whatever we do. Things are changing for him, but he'll adapt. We're all confident that someday soon Greta will become Jersey's favorite playmate. Until then he'll just be another one of les miserables.

Greta, meet Central. Central, meet Greta.

This morning was Greta's first big outing. She made it to both the 8:00 and 10:00 services at church where she met many of the people that have been praying for her for the past nine months. I don't typically have much patience for those who sleep through church, but today I made an exception. Greta was asleep from the time we left the house until we brought her home again.

Grandpa Jay headed back to MN today. We'll miss him, but it'll be nice for the rest of us to hold Greta again ;)

This afternoon Greta spent some time on her play mat and she got to look at herself in the mirror. I'm told that she was pretty interested in her reflection.

Greta's first week was a wonderful one. It was also a quick one. Yet despite how busy things have been, Eleanor and I have both come to the realization that things will never be the same again.

And that's a good thing.