Super Sunday.

Important lessons I have learned:

When baby is asleep, do not let husband pass her around. Really, it wasn't his fault. But the next three hours of catnap, feed, feed, chuck, feed, catnap, feed, chuck... turned today into ONE OF THOSE DAYS. Shame, it being Sunday and all.

Still, we made it to swing class. I made it through swing class. Audrey likes music. She doesn't like a particular swing tune, but that's probably because I cringe doing that routine and she is conditioned to the wave of horror that shudders through my body every time I hear those opening bars.

Cleavage (when burping a baby) is a bad thing. It allows the milky posset to slide right down the front of your top. Not. Pleasant.

Prosciutto and mushrooms w/ ravioli = great.
Prosciutto and mushrooms AND red capsicum AND green capsicum AND onion AND tomato AND parmesan w/ravioli = bleargh. Like slimy salsa invading my perfectly salty pasta paradise.

Space Odyssey 2001 is a complete head trip and the guys making it dropped a ton of acid. I don't want to imagine what it would have been like if I too had indulged in illicit substances.

Parens are good things. First-time grandparents are a little scary. (A little? I want to change the locks and get an unlisted telephone number.)

It's all okay. Really.

I've just come to a shocking realisation: for the first time in my life I am at a place where I could survive with three sets of clothes. And you know what? I, the self-confessed owner of three wardrobes (full of clothes, not just three wardrobes. It's not like I keep Narnia in one and Disneyland in another and Middle Earth in the third. Although that does kind of describe the clothing in each. ANYway...) I am okay with that. 

As in: Monday, Set 1; Tuesday Set 2; Wednesday, possibly Set 1(because they were washed yesterday and may already be dry)... probably Set 3. It's a great uniform. Underwear,  jeans, socks, glamourmum singlet top (with soft built-in nursing bra, BEST THING EVER), top to layer over (I'm on a rotation of about four button-downs and a couple crossovers). Ok, so a few days actually go like this: Set 1; feed, vomit, Set 2, oops, dodgy nappy/productive burp, Set 3 and bad luck, I'm staying in this till bedtime (and trotting off to put Set 1 & 2 in the wash) but I'm okay with that. She's four weeks old, who says you have to control all the ins and outs? (Or even any of the ins and/or outs.)

We're still using cloth nappies with success; I hung out six today and that means six more nappies not in landfill. I think 6-8 cloths each day is our average. Is it weird that my four-week-old produces more laundry than I do? (I realise I have full bladder/bowel control on my side, however I'm also some 20 times her size.) Never mind. Today I coloured my hair, dropped a gift to a friend, and spent some lovely time with my favourite not-quite-aunt. Audrey fed, slept, did cute things, repeat, repeat, repeat. Somehow I'm not bored yet, and that's very okay. 

The things we make time for.

And thank you, autocorrect, for believing that what I really wanted to call this post was "The thugs we make time for." believe me, that's a whole different nappy of mystery.

So when I'm not gazing adoringly at the small person who inexplicably evolved from a couple of cells and got unceremoniously evicted from my body, I'm sleeping. Or eating.

Actually, reverse the order of those. And feeding, expressing, nappy-changing, tea-making...
I actually fend off help hanging out the washing because it's the one tangible success of my day. (btw, the cloth nappies are working beautifully. Bambooty are making me a happy, slightly less environmentally catastrophic event).

Hence my amazement that I can't quite get it together to color my hair but I could totally get changed, manipulate feeding a little (wake up! You have to feed NOW!) and get to ballet class. My joy was slightly marred by the physio-in-the-class stating I really shouldn't do anything high-impact for three months (seriously? It's been four weeks and I'm stir-crazy; take those endorphins away for three months and I'll need a prescription), but the only sweat I broke was because I stubbornly refused to take off my outer layer. Nursing clips are really not the sartorial standard for ballet class.

Little miss A was suitably engaged, staring about in the complete realization that all the rocking and bumping she felt to THAT music was her incipient mother jumping/spinning around like an idiot. I'm going to put the brief upset down to the fact that she wanted to DO the fouettés.
Ballet class: win.

The happiness of washing...

We're starting the MCN (modern cloth nappy) journey and I think I like it! Started off small using washable breast pads from day one and given I've used one pair every day that's about 50 disposables I HAVEN'T used. Sure, I have a box of disposables as a backup, but when they're coaster-sized discs of fabric, it's not as though I'm washing a whole extra towel every day or anything crazy like that. i also like the breathability factor of bamboo, because who wants to walk around with sopping wads of tissue in their bra every day? Glamorous? I think not.
Now, upping the ante slightly, I bought a collection of small bambooty nappies and some peapods off a local mommy and so far so good - the bambooty nappies have this brilliant design with boosters sewn in from the front and the back, so when drying you can spread them flat and the eight? layers of fabric dry so much faster. Plus they don't need reassembly after every wash.
I am starting to wonder how many pairs of socks one very small baby can conceivably possess, but I'm sure we'll lose them at twice the rate of adult socks, them being so small and all, so probably best we start with a million pairs and work from there.

Just hung out five MCN. That's five disposable nappies we didn't use yesterday. Excellent. Add those to the (much smaller) mountain of breast pads I'm not using and the (larger) mountain of formula tins that WON'T be in our garbage can and I'm feeling better about the Everest-sized mountain of clothing and other ridiculous things that babies incur. (Let's save the Kindle outrage for tomorrow, this can be a happy sparkly post.) For laughs, go here.