Don’t Call it a Comeback

Tristan has an umbilical hernia.  It makes her already outie belly-button protude even further.  Over time, the hernia will heal.  Now, however, she likes to hold it.

She doesn’t just hold it, though.  She holds it when she’s drinking from her bottle or sucking her thumb.  Almost invariably, she does the latter (suck her thumb) immediately after the former (drink her bottle) because she always does the latter (suck her thumb) when she’s sleepy, which is also often the result of the former (drink her bottle).  It’s a hell of a sight.

This cute, cuddly, little baby-girl grabs her bottle, throws back her head, grabs her umbilical hernia-enhanced outie belly-button, then waddles through the house and, thus, morphs into a little bubba.

Not Buddah. 

Bubba. 

There different…except that they’re both very satisfied. 

As is Tristan.

 

New Dog’s New Tricks

Sometimes, Tristan creates a vacuum in her milk bottle, which stops the flow of milk.  I suppose every baby does it.  Marcel did it, but I learned to regularly pull the bottle away so as keep the flow steady and the cries at bay.  By the time Tristan arrived, however, I must’ve forgotten the trick because she regularly creates vacuums.  Amazingly, Tristan figured out the answer to the problem all on her own.

Often while I’m daydreaming my way through Tristan’s feeding, or whatever the hell it is I’m doing, Tristan realizes that the milk has stopped flowing.  Any other baby would start crying but fail to recognize that, just by opening their mouth, they have let air into the bottle which, in turn, allows the milk to flow again, thus making further cries unnecessary.

Of course, any baby would make this mistake.  After all, they’re just a baby!  Apparently, though, Tristan isn’t just a baby because Tristan doesn’t cry.

Instead, when the vacuum occurs and the flow dries up, Tristan starts pushing at my fingers.  She’s trying to push the bottle in my hand out of her mouth.  She’s not strong enough to actually move my hand, of course, but she is strong enough to get my attention.  When she starts pushing, I pull the bottle away, we wait for the telltale bubbles and hiss to stop and, when it does, she opens her mouth and I pop the bottle back in.

Obviously, she could achieve the same affect just by opening her mouth but, given her age, her way is mighty impressive to me.

 

M&Ms for dinner

Marcel had plain M&Ms for dinner on Thursday.

She didn’t just have plain M&Ms. She also had turkey, peas and carrots. In fact, she had the peas and carrots because she just had to have the M&Ms. She wouldn’t wait for desert, though. She had to have a M&M in exchange for every forkful of veggies. That was the deal. Because she eventually ate all of her veggies, it was a very good deal to me.

I can hear my parents groan, now.

Dad–”GP” to Marcel–is a good soldier. In his estimation, the work itself is the glory. Anything extra is like a tip. It’s something you get wholly at the discretion, and graciousness, of the beneficiary of your labor. Thus, under GPs rules, Marcel should’ve just ate those peas and carrots.

My mother isn’t such the good soldier. She’s more like a mercenary. She believes in compensation, the more ample the better. She doesn’t, however, believe in M&Ms for dinner. She believes in a healthy meal.

At my core, I am much more like my father on this point. I have, however, come to learn the value of negotiation. Especially since I’ve the financial obligations of a husband and father. Now, I can’t afford to sacrifice all for the good of the community. Now, I need the community to sacrifice a little for me. Thus, my mother has had her impact on me, too.

Still, she wouldn’t be too thrilled about Marcel’s diet. But, I think, my parents should both be thrilled about her diet. Marcel did eat all of her veggies. And she is digesting how to negotiate in this tough world, as well.