Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The whole story

Okay, we're all in a better mood now, so I'm up to retyping our whole ordeal, I mean, experience.

Yesterday: I dropped off the kid with the metapelet, all fed and with a 70 ml bottle of me, just as a backup. I come back two hours later to a crying baby who finished her bottle, wouldn't drink any water, and wanted to nurse. Hmmm. So I got all bebumbled that she would either starve or need formula (evil formula!) or would need rice cereal in her bottle (apparently that's an Israeli convention), and in all ways I'm a failure as a parent, and she'll probably need therapy or nose piercings as a result of the trauma.

I vented to several friends who all assured me CPS doesn't come for feeding a baby one bottle of formula a day. Well... maybe.

Today: Wake-up was set for 6 AM, but I got up a trifle earlier. We had to wake up Yoav to help us get out on time, since I hadn't adequately prepared the night before (something I'm trying to remedy tonight by doing things like blogging whilst Yoav gives the girl her bath - but then, Yoav was out teaching last night. Anyway...). We were in the car by 7:15, and got to the metapelet as scheduled at 8 AM. What with feeding her there and shmoozing a bit, I got to work at 8:38 AM - not too shabby.

I refrained from calling all day to check on the girl (okay, I made a friend do it once), and picked her up at 1:38 PM. She was... fine. She finished the 100 ml bottle I gave her, and defrosted about another 100 ml which she ate most of. She napped a bit, and even pooped, thus demonstrating that she was comfortable. It got all over her clothes too...

The metapelet thinks she needs 140 ml bottles, that that would be perfect. While I was at work, I produced 130 ml - not bad at all! Except she wants two 140 ml bottles...

So I will pump at work, and will pump at home, and whatever more she needs will be formula, I think. There's no point in me feeling bad about it, because if I can't make more, I can't make more. Or I could take drugs... Decisions, decisions.

Oh, and work was, um, fine. My desk got moved (so much for having a window!) and my job description is changing, but we don't yet have the new software that I'll be working on so right now I am Skilled Laborer For Hire, and no fewer than four people were trying to give me 'projects' to work on. Work is fine, but I readily admit I had forgotten how mundane it is.

On the way in, I sang to the girl, "We work hard for the money..."

Presented for your approval, two pictures of my daughter in the hat she wore in the hospital when she was born. When did she turn into a person?! (With boogies in her nose, no less.) Oh, and one more picture of her in her usual spot (i.e. off the blankets on the tile), just cause it's so yum.



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