8 Months

R turns 8 months old tomorrow! There were new developments today and yesterday that must be added to the record books, aka my blog.

Yesterday- R was on her new Dora playmat, and she decided to roll and roll and roll until she ended up way off the mat, against the wall, with her head in the cat food dish. :-D The best part is that she couldn't figure out how to roll back the way she came, so she kept going around and around in circles up against the wall (yes, I moved the cat food dish)! That was the first time she had ever rolled consecutively, and, consequently, the first time she ever succeeded in moving herself somewhere. She kept it up today, too, going all around the dining room floor. I have yet to see her actually chase after something... I think she just rolls for the sake of rolling. ^_^

Today- Senpai sat her up on her playmat. She didn't fall. She stayed sitting upright for at least 15 minutes! Even then, she still didn't fall: she was starting to get bored so I put her on her stomach for her new rolling adventures to begin.



My baby girl is getting so big!

Thankful for... yeah.

If I seem closed-lipped and grumpy lately, it's because the in-laws are living with us.

While Senpai and my families are similar in some ways (mom and dad still together and well, one boy child and one girl child), they are also so very, very different, creating different environments to have grown up in, like night and day. Senpai, being the progeny of his parents, molds and blends right in with the chaos of having them here. He is so mellow and easy-going and all of my calm rests in him. Me, on the other hand, I feel like an outsider, and rightfully so, since I was raised by my parents. Completely different households, completely different personalities. I'm the third wheel that doesn't belong in this house. My house.

I don't watch the same movies as the three of them, I don't eat the same food, I don't laugh at the same jokes, and, no, I do not appreciate having my mom and I insulted on Thanksgiving. Once again, NO. Not in my house, not on Thanksgiving, not EVER. I'm pretty sure MIL wants me out of the picture. Just replace me with a woman who cleans more, eats everything, and continues to cook a wonderful meal for everyone to enjoy without getting upset that her heart was just crushed and she is expected to keep smiling while her and her family are badmouthed.

I'll get my heart crushed. I love my husband too much to go anywhere. Just don't expect me to smile anymore. What am I thankful for this Thanksgiving? That my daughter is healthy. That my husband loves me and keeps me (somewhat) sane in spite of the chaos. That my mom and dad and brother understand me exactly as I am.

That's about it right now.

Genetics, a Hairy Topic

First, because R is a girl, she has inherited mitochondrial DNA that can be traced back to her great great great grandmother. Technically, you can go waaaaaaaaayyyy far back in time following matrilineage (every mother will not have a daughter, but every daughter has to have a mother), but great great great grandmother was adopted, so details about her biological mother are unknown.

Second, my friend had linked to this crazy article on facebook, and something it said got me thinking about redheads, and how my daughter and I are part of this group. I looked up red hair on Wikipedia and learned some interesting stuff:

- Approximately 1% to 2% of the human population has red hair. In the United States, it is estimated that 2-6% of the population has red hair. This would give the U.S. the largest population of redheads in the world, at 6 to 18 million, compared to approximately 650,000 in Scotland and 420,000 in Ireland. {I found this fact surprising, but it makes sense when you take the size of the US into account versus the sizes of Ireland and Scotland.}

- Red hair is associated with fair skin color due to low concentrations of eumelanin throughout the body of those with red hair. This lower melanin-concentration confers the advantage that a sufficient concentration of important Vitamin D can be produced under low light conditions. {Vitamin D-licious!!}

- Two studies have demonstrated that people with red hair have different sensitivity to pain compared to people with other hair colors. One study found that people with red hair are more sensitive to thermal pain (associated with naturally occurring low vitamin K levels),[38] while another study concluded that redheads are less sensitive to pain from multiple modalities, including noxious stimuli such as electrically induced pain. {I was quite fascinated by this fact. Pain is sensed by your biological nervous system, so it makes complete sense that pain tolerance can differ from person to person due to your specific genetic makeup. I hadn't ever considered that before.}

Something I wanted to mention here about my hair is that I was strawberry-blond as a kid, but it turned a darker auburn as I grew older. Once it turned so dark, I didn't think I could really consider myself a "redhead" anymore, since my hair wasn't the fiery orange of, say, a native Irish lass. Did my brownish hair with a hint of golden red really qualify me as a redhead? According to Wikipedia, yes: "Red hair (also referred to as titian or ginger hair) varies from a deep burgundy through burnt orange to bright copper." Of course there are different shades of red!! In one sentence, Wikipedia threw away years of insecurity about my hair. :-D Oddly enough, instead of starting with strawberry-blond hair that darkens like mine did, R is starting out with auburn hair exactly the same shade as my hair now. I wonder what color it will be when she grows up. At least I know with certainty that I can call her my little redhead. ^_^

Things

Things that are lost or broken in this house:

Spoons. A wok. My car. Your trust. My sanity.


They're just things, right?

I keep telling myself I shouldn't get upset; stop thinking only of myself. There's a reason this is all playing out the way it is. But I still selfishly want it to come to a grinding halt: please stop breaking my things. Am I justified to feel upset? I never know when I'm being petty or when these feelings are actually validated.

But they're only just things. Look at the bigger picture and let these small worries go (are they small?). Maybe... maybe if you trusted me, maybe if you didn't accuse me of being something I'm not, maybe then these things would seem smaller than I currently understand them to be. They're just things after all.

They're just things.

What 7 mos. Looks Like

R is 7 months old! Not that it happened today, actually it was October 29th, but I was feeling nostalgic and decided to write about what she can do now.

I love that she is 7 months old because she is so much more fun to be around now! Crying has decreased dramatically, and smiles and laughter have flourished. She is so curious, looking and smiling at everything. She especially loves the pets. Her favorite toy is her ladybug book. She didn't pay her much attention before, but she likes Sophie now. She will grab a toy and whip it up and down with ferocity. She has started burrowing her face into whatever body part of yours is closest and gnawing with her gums. I can't wait to see her first tooth... She says words now, though she doesn't realize it. We've heard her say "hi," "okay," and "yeah." She rolls over! She can go from her front to her back, but she still needs help getting from her back to her front. She sits up with support; I'm looking forward to when she can do it all by herself. She sleeps through the night (usually.. unless she's teething). She eats pureed food, and sucks frozen strawberries or bananas out of a mesh feeder. Just as of today she has figured out how to drink water out of a sippy cup. What else, what else, what else? I don't know! I am just so in awe of and in love with my little R-baby.

On a separate but related note, R has been in our lives for the past 223 days. 223 days of laundering cloth diapers, pumping breast milk, and washing bottles. Exactly how much time have I spent attached to a breast pump? If I average a pumping time of 15 minutes 6 times a day, then I would have pumped 334 and a half HOURS total. I say "would have" because that average grossly under-represents the truth. In the beginning, I pumped for 45 minutes EVERY 3 hours-- including during the night-- desperately trying to keep the NICU stocked with milk for my baby. And though now I don't pump quite so often anymore, I do sometimes pump for as long as 40 minutes, depending on how long R naps for and how drawn into the interwebs I get. But still, 334.5 is a lot of hours, and there are many more to go until I reach my goal of feeding R breast milk for a year. I can (and will!) do it!!

Stress in the Home

I don't handle stress well. My heart pounds, my body shakes, my blood sugar skyrockets.

Stress is in my home.

I don't want to be home.

Something was revealed to me today: an interesting facet to the life that all four of the adults in this house had been living with, but of which I had been blissfully unaware. Today the main perpetrator decided to get it off their chest and let me in on the secret, and it turned my comfort and understanding of this household upside down. Why did they have to tell me? I tense up just sitting here thinking about it.

I know that ultimately I need to become the bigger person and rise above the muck, but right now I feel so mired down into it that I don't know if I can get past it. I must get past it. As much as I want to say "f*ck you all, get out of my house," I can't do that. That is my lowest character. It is on my shoulders to suck up my stressed out feelings and continue to be the understanding and compassionate person that I thought I was. That I want to be. How do I get past it? Set the drama aside. Wring out this stress and hang me up to dry.