One of my favorite Thanksgiving activities is stuffing. That's right, stuffing myself. At the dinner I mentioned before, they had turkey. As many of you know, turkey is one of my favorite foods, especially the drumstick. At family Thanksgiving dinners, you can recognize my plate because it's the one that looks like it came from a Renaissance Festival.
So I was standing in line, waiting for the chef to carve and serve turkey to the people in front of me, and I jokingly wondered aloud if he would give me the drumstick if I asked nicely. We all laughed at the slightly absurd picture it brought to mind, and the next thing I knew the chef plopped a big 'ol drumstick right on my plate, even though I was fourth or fifth in line.
I quickly moved through the rest of the buffet, filling in the few remaining empty spaces on my plate, and moved back to the table to conquer the beast.
By the end of the evening, I was stuffed. I didn't hurt, like last year, but I was pretty darn full, and quite proud of myself. Later that night, I fed Maxine, and realized that I was an amateur. Because let me tell you something, every time my baby eats she looks more stuffed than I do. I mean, she even has milk leaking out of her mouth by the end. And the look on her face is very recognizable to me. It says, "Holy cow, let me unfasten my diapers. I can't even stand up, I'm so stuffed."
And then I realized: Maxine has actually eaten a countable number of meals. Probably around four or five hundred. To her, it is still a brand new experience. No way could I count the meals I've eaten in my life time. And as much as I enjoy it, she is enjoying it with that exuberance that only comes from doing something for the first time.
Not only that, but she is enjoying everything like it's the first time, because for her, it practically is! She loves being touched, though she still kind of spooks if you get too close to her eyes. She seems overjoyed when we change her wet diapers for dry ones. She even enjoys farting, I think. Today she farted, and I said, "Oooo, she farted!" and Maxine smiled and made a high pitched sound.
And let me tell you, if there is any positive feeling that rivals a first kiss, it is getting a smile from your child.
I'm tired a lot these days. Horyon caught a cold yesterday, so she sleeps a lot when I'm home. That means that I'm taking care of Maxine a lot, which I enjoy. Still, I hope that Horyon recovers quickly. The only advantage to this cold is that she is taking medicine to keep her fever down, and it makes her breast milk a bit of a sedative. So after feeding, Maxine usually knocks right out. [Don't worry, the doctor knew that Horyon was breastfeeding, and told her that they give the same drug to babies with colds. Maxine is not becoming addicted to something nasty.]
This past weekend we set up the baby monitor, and now Maxine has her own room. It's really cool. Horyon and I can talk in normal voices instead of whispering. It's nice.
It makes me wonder, though. Horyon told me that when she was growing up her entire family slept in the same room. All together. No walls. And yet somehow she has a brother and a sister. And I have to wonder, how could that have happened? I guess the older generations do know a lot of stuff that we younger people haven't figured out yet.
One last note: I have my schedule for next semester. I'll be starting in the afternoon, one or two o'clock every day, and finished by five or six most of the time. That means that I will be staying home with Maxine in the mornings. Just me and baby, all morning. Six days a week.
Am I nervous? No. Nervous is the wrong word. Mostly because I don't think far enough ahead to be nervous about things three months down the road. Perhaps apprehensive is a better word. Or maybe periwinkle. I'll let you know when I get it figured out.