Do You Hear What I Hear

When Olive was born, a nurse informed us that our lil' monster was the loudest baby on the hospital floor. Now, if looks could kill, that nurse would've died a graphic death, as I'm pretty sure my eyes were shooting daggers at her for pointing out the painfully obvious while not teaching us helpless new parents how to make the deafening screams STOP. In all seriousness, Olive's first month out of the womb had me wanting to slice off my ears, a la Van Gogh. And Beans? If he had opposable thumbs, he probably would've done the same.

Olive has since improved her behavior. She's still a cry-baby, but the intensity of her cries have, for my nerves' sake, come down. Well, that or I have simply grown accustomed to the wails. Mommy loves you, Olive...

Boy Oh Boy

It's 3am. Do you know where your child is? I do. She's on YouTube gushing over the Biebs.


Olive: "Omigosh, Mommy... it's Justin Bieber!"


Olive: "Ahh... I think I'm in love."

Boy oh boy. Unlike normal babies, Olive does not spend the majority of her day sleeping. She eats. She poops. She cries. Or better yet, she "parties" (my new code word for Olive when she cries). Here she is at 2 months and 1 week, NOT sleeping at 3am. I played infant-appropriate music for her, but none of it had the silencing effect of Justin Bieber. As you can see, she is mesmerized by his "Baby" video. She also likes "One Less Lonely Girl." My little demon is growing up already...

Baby's First Heartbreak

Avery: 'Sup Olive? Why the frown?
Olive: Just found out dat all babies, including us, eventually have to sleep on our own. Dat and the fact that Justin Bieber has a girlfriend. *sniffles*

My baby girl loves the Biebs.

Fridays

Source: kindovermatter.com via Debra on Pinterest

Husband is home.
Family's complete.
I am all smiles.
Like this old lady.
Only I have teeth.

Uncanny Resemblance

My postpartum bellybutton bears an uncanny resemblance to my dog's asshole. Just sayin'.

Bling

"O" for Olive.

Expecting the Unexpected

It's been a while since my last post. Little ones are adorable, but they are also emotionally and physically draining - even with help. Moms who convince you that the child rearing experience is otherwise are liars. That, or they are freaks. Freaks with freak babies. So I like to tell myself.

Not one to sugarcoat, I'll be the first to admit that I'm no model mother. I actually sit in my bed and have a good cry nearly every other day - out of sight from the nanny and Olive. It's not because I don't love my new little monster. For the record, I adore her to bits and will do anything for her. I mean it. Anything. (I'm holding and hugging a sleeping Olive as I type this.) But since her arrival, it's been difficult adjusting to all things new. Life postpartum is not what I expected. For every immense surge of joy I feel when interacting with Olive, I experience an extreme dose of sadness. I'm a passenger on a roller coaster of emotions and I've been riding this coaster for two months to date. I feel good three-quarters of the time, but the other quarter is spent having panic attacks about a wide spectrum of things. I'm constantly anxious - be it about the baby (obvi), home cleanliness, my career, my weight. I have to consciously not-freak-out, and I'm pretty sure that this new me (whom I'm not fond of) scares the hubby. Josh, I am so sorry. I just don't feel like myself lately... and am having a hard time getting out of my slump...

On a brighter note, Olive is exact 2 months old today. *big grin* Rather than highlighting how adorable and bright she is (parental bias!), I think I'll just spend the neck paragraph highlighting how huge she is. Our freakishly strong baby girl is already putting her neck muscles and Michelle Obama-esque arms to use. Check her out! Next thing you know, she'll be busting out her father's P90X videos and doing push-ups. *teehee*

Doppleganger

According to fellow animator Mary Lai, Olive's doppleganger is this chubby-cheeked rodent. Olive would like for you all to know that this was an unflattering shot of her.

Tough Love

Olive won't sleep unless she's held. I know I'm supposed to set her down and let her cry, but I don't have the heart. She's new here, so if she needs to be comforted, it's mommy to the rescue. How could I not? We both sleep better that way.

So much for tough love. Naysayers, begone! I will unleash the Tiger Mom when Olive is older. In the meantime? Hugs and kisses. Lots and lots.

Dream A Little Dream

Am well aware that my priorities now should be Olive and my physical recovery, but I can't help but notice that le cub and cougar home is looking like a turd. Le hubby and I have been living in our potentially-awesome crib for half a year now, and we've yet to fully unpack and finish decorating a single room.

A polished and done home...

A girl can dream, can't she? Have been flipping through magazines and surfing the web for inspiration. How lovely are these images from House Beautiful? Decorated by Amy and Todd of NickeyKehoe.

The Aftermath

No one said it'd be easy.
But no book or conversation could have prepared me for what I experienced post-partum.

Though I had a relatively easy pregnancy, my first month post-partum was a nightmare. Not only did have to deal with the physical pain that came with recovering from my c-section surgery, there was the intense pain and frustration that experienced as I made made a valiant attempt to breast feed. My breasts wouldn't cooperate for the life of me, and I found myself battling boob engorgement, tissue inflammation (mastitis), and underperformance (milk supply issues). You name the lactation-related complication, and I suffered it.

On top of being physically unfit to care for Olive (my chest hurt SO much that I couldn't pick Olive up, let alone play with her), there were two additional challenges I had to face along with le hubby: Olive was (is) colic and completely unwilling to sleep in any of her beds (crib and bassinet). The only way to soothe her is to hold her (my poor chest), and well, she insists on being soothed and held constantly. When put down, Olive hollers - her hollering best explained to those who haven't spent time with her as being the volume and intensity of a normal baby cry times two. It's one thing when she's crying because she needs to be fed or burped, but when she's crying for seemingly no good reason for hours, both le hubby and I start losing our minds.

Le hubby and I know that we're incredibly lucky to have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby. Yet we can't help but look on at other parents who, at the 1-month mark, are already pushing their tots around Silver Lake effortlessly without a tear in sight nor cry to be heard. The thought of a quiet and chill child makes us (well, me) salivate.

Are we bad parents? We live in constant fear that we are. Are we too impatient? Two weeks ago, I thought we were. But we aren't. We just have a feisty munchkin. Which isn't to say that we're pushing all blame onto Olive either. But every baby is different, and that's a fact. It's okay if I have negative feelings every so often. Beats bottling it all up inside. The post-partum period need not be like Fight Club. I can talk about it. And once I do, I feel better. Happy mommy, happy baby, yeah?

Olive is developing beautifully (10 lbs 3 oz at a mere 43 days old), and she gets cuter with each day. *gush* I'm in awe of her and am so proud that she's ours. To think that I have it in me to love anything or anyone this much is simply insane.

The past month and a half has been a pain (quite literally), but it's all been worth it. Really. Truly. Look at that face.

Supply and Demand

i love olive with all that i have and will do anything for the munchkin, but i can't help but dread feeding her. (i breast feed via a breast pump. more on my experience with breast feeding and breast pumping to come.) olive's demand for milk is insatiable - frequently exceeding my supply. i live in constant fear that i can't provide for her... to think she's only a month old.

am slowing getting over my issues and am coming to realize that formula is a totally decent alternative to breast milk, but i can't help but feel like a loser when i'm unable to satisfy my kid. just sayin'...

Milestone

Olive reaches a month today. She'd like y'all to know that she's officially a big girl :)

Great Expectations

Supermodels seemingly have it all. Post-partum figures that money can't buy, yummy over-achieving hubbies, and beautiful children whom they breastfeed effortlessly. See Exhibit A:


Exhibit A - VS angel Miranda Kerr feeding her son before strutting her shit on the catwalk in lingerie.

WTF.

Having never had a baby before Olive, I had no idea that photos like the one above, and blogs like this one, do not depict the norm. Glossy, doctored images of highly-disciplined freaks of nature in perfectly-staged settings paired with edited blog entries about their fancy at-home, glitch-free, successful natural births to chill babies are bound to make any "real" mom feel like a failure - myself included. Olive was a challenge from day one, and it's important to note that ours was not a relationship based on love-at-first-sight. See Exhibit B:


Exhibit B - Me and Olive hanging out at the hospital when she was first born. Feelings were mutual. She was pissed at me for starving her (my milk supply hadn't let down yet), and I was frustrated with her for chewing up my nipples (seriously, ow-wee).

Fast forward to today. My weight is at an all-time high, my home is a war-zone, and I continue to struggle with breastfeeding my colicky baby. Unlike Miranda Kerr, I am not strutting around in diamond-covered pasties and a thong. I am a fat ass, running on empty - sleeping any moment I can, anywhere I can. See Exhibit C:


Exhibit C - Reality bites.

Though Olive and I didn't hit it off from the get-go (our relationship problems stemmed from the difficulties I encountered when breastfeeding), our mother-daughter relationship has developed into something pretty darn sweet over the course of a month. (Olive turns 1 month old tomorrow!) My insides melt like butter when the little one stares at me; I swear, there's nothing I wouldn't do for my bossy munchkin... Exhibit D:


Exhibit D - Who ya' callin' bossy?

Happy New Year!!!

Happy Chinese New Year, everyone! As we enter the year of the Dragon, Olive has but one thing to say. Chime in, munchkin.

Olive: Dragons are cool, but rabbits are cuter.*

Little one has a point.

* Olive was born in the Year of the Rabbit. She barely made the cut-off, so I like to remind her that she's a rabbit butt.

Cowabunga

Avery is proud of her gifted milking cow*. Olive is ashamed of hers.

Olive confesses to Avery: My moo-moo sees a lactation consultant...
Avery to Olive: *gasp* Wanna borrow mine?

*cow = mom.

There's a Puppy in the House

Olive: Daddy, daddy, Beans did it.
Le Hubby: *skeptical* (Rightfully so.)


Olive: Why won't you believe me?


Olive: Mommy?

Some of you have been wondering whether or not Beans and Olive have been getting along. Yes, folks. They have been. Royally. Beans understands there's a new puppy in the house and has been incredibly accommodating since her arrival. He sniffs Olive's belongings and tiny feet, but is fully-aware that everything munchkin-related is off-limits to him. We are very proud of him. The dynamic in our household has certainly changed - with the baby being priority one - and we're all learning to adjust. Le hubby and I try our best to let him know he's still very-much loved. At the same time, we uphold strict house rules for him.

Like us, Beans is scared of the baby. Especially when she cries. I don't blame him. I hear you, Beans. Olive's cry can be deafening. If I could fit under a chair or curl up and fit in a doggy bed (like Beans), I'd probably do the same...

I'm New Here

Le hub mocking our master, Olive.

Never in a million years did le hubs and I think that we would become THOSE people. You know, gushers. I find myself plastering Facebook, Twitter, and all email correspondence with Olive's face. Apologies, friends and acquaintances. Apologies, Olive. But it's like that old Whitney Houston song. "I get so emotional, baby... Every time I think of you ooh-ooh-OOH... Ain't it shocking what love can do..."

With the arrival of the munchkin, our world has been turned upside-down, inside-out and round and round. The house looks like it imploded (empty Amazon boxes formerly filled with baby gear are scattered everywhere, not to mention used Kleenex from wiping her spit up), le hub's car is in the process of getting switched out for a larger, safer vehicle in which to transport the kid and all her gear, and oh, I should probably point out that I am physically ruined. Since Olive's delivery, I've been walking about with hard and heavy melons for tits paired with ravaged nipples from breast feeding, sporting 24 extra pounds from the uber-rich Chinese post-partum "diet" of fatty soups, and have worn nothing but high-waisted sweatpants since my return from the hospital. I fit nothing else and could not be more unattractive. But I don't care.

Baby girl, you are the Master of our Universe (He-Man reference!). You may have the entire household running on empty, but daddy, Beans and I all love you. (Cue Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely")

Favorite Things

Olive may only be 10 days old, but she's already exuding some mayjah personality.

She's already got "LIKES" - or so I've decided. Breast milk aside, pipsqueak digs...

1) Secrets with daddy.

2) Eskimo kisses

3) Froggy rattle from Uncle Jon (my brother)

Olive, you're my favorite thing.

Priceless

An excellent replication of Olive's cry is the sound Donald Duck would make when being slaughtered.
Nurses at Good Samaritan Hospital acknowledged that she was the loudest baby on the floor.

But every so often, our munchkin tires herself out.
And when she does, she'll shoot us a smile.
Those moments are priceless...

Here she is with her very patient and loving daddy.

What's up, Doc?

Hello world.

Olive Harper Huang.
Born 7 lbs 7 oz at 11:40 a.m. on December 30th.
Just in time to ring in the New Year.

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

This is what I envision our baby girl is going to be like (all diva) seeing that she's making a fashionably late appearance into this world.*


But this is what I envision our baby girl is going to look like (geeky) seeing that she will possess genes from both me and Josh.**

Yeah, I'm going mad. I've been popping up in bed awfully early for the past few weeks in hopes of greeting a slimy coneheaded baby girl, but gosh, it's three days past her ETA, and still no contractions (false o real). Friends and family (and strangers, for that matter) keep asking, "Is the baby here yet?!?" But my answer (and Josh's answer) up until now has been a resounding, disappointing "NO." I'd be lying if I were to say I weren't disappointed that the kiddo didn't arrive early or on time on Christmas Day. It's not that I mind housing her. But with each day that passes, she's just getting more and more massive. Kiddo needs to check out of my "Four Seasons womb" (as my friend Rebecca likes to put it) asap because I'm going to feel like such a failure if I can't squeeze her out.***


I really do understand that good things come to those who wait, but must le cub and I start greying before our baby girl's appearance?****

Baby girl, everyone's excited to meet you. We promise you'll love life outside of the womb. There's so much to do and so much to see.


See? Yes, well... I truly hope we get to meet sooner than later, kiddo. You have no idea...*****

* Caption that would best enhance this pic: "Have your people call my people."
** Childhood prereq. Hair cut that consumes over half of their head.
*** I'm really proud when I make a big doo doo. For some odd reason, I've decided on my own that giving birth to a baby is going to be similar, and I'd love to experience the satisfaction of "dropping off" a package as large as an infant. I know. I'm demented.
**** A somewhat irrelevant side note: Old folks in love make me happy. And sad.
***** All photos plucked from Pinterest or FFFFOUND.

HOHOHO

May Your Days Be Merry & Bright...

Performance Anxiety

With only 2 days to go til her eta, I think the womb raider is experiencing performance anxiety.

Growing Pains

Went in for a check-up with the doc yesterday afternoon, and it's starting to look like our baby girl may be arriving later than her ETA of Christmas Day. With each day that she chooses to delay her appearance, her cranium's just getting bigger and bigger! Dammit. She's probably gleefully polishing her massive head this very moment. You know. The head I have to squeeze out of my little bits? Am starting to feel anxious. Perhaps it's time to start reasoning with her. Extra presents if she arrives early or on-time. Lump of coal if she arrives late?

It's Beginning to Smell a Lot Like Christmas

Our 7 foot tall noble fir. Smells so good...

Womb Raiders

Olive consults Avery on the subject of post-birth head shape.
Olive: Avery, will my vajayjay-squeezed cone head ever go away?
Avery: Olive, I was born with a unibrow and hair on my back. Now look at me! Have your people call my people.

When Life Gives You Lemons

According to my friend Robby Puro, the difficulty and pain involved in squeezing a full-sized baby out of one's female bits can best be equated to squeezing a Sunkist lemon out of a dude's urethra. It's stuff like this that keeps me up at night...

Help!

I could Pinterest all day. That's how I found this panda. May be in need of an intervention...

Follow me HERE. *teehee*

Occupy Movement

Have been trying to entice the face of the Occupy movement in my belly to surrender herself in time for the holidays. Marching about with a 36 lb beer belly is exhausting. Does pineapple work?

He Knows When You Are Sleeping

He knows when you're awake... (creepy much?!)


Christmas tree is all decorated, and my favorite ornament of 2011 is our one-balled santa. Tah-dah! I rescued him from the Pasadena Rose Bowl Flea...



Beans' favorite ornament is our booby santa. Also rescued from the Rose Bowl Flea. Needless to say, le hubby and I are collectors of homely ornaments.

Hot Bath

Beans has been an angel in the presence of my in-laws. We had warned him that Grandpa Huang would turn him into soup if he weren't well-behaved. Goofy pup took our advice to heart and has steered clear of the pot. Whew.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

What's the difference between snowmen and snow women?

Snowballs.

Doodling while on maternity leave!