The new baby: April 2008 Archives

Noah figured out today how to maneuver those strange things on the ends of his arms to touch stuff.

He's been staring intently at things for a couple of weeks now, and he's occasionally batted at stuff with the backs of his hands.

But today, I held a stuffed lion up in front of him (his name is Bobby Lion, by the way -- my husband's little twist on Sam's ever-present Baby Lion), and he put his hands straight out and grabbed onto the fuzzy face.

First try. No hesitation. Those hands hit exactly where he wanted them to go.

It made me look at him in a new light. He's not my teeny, tiny infant anymore. He's in the "baby" stage now.

This means I need to do a few things:

1. Get my long hair cut to keep it from being yanked out of my head

2. Make sure all possible choking hazards are well out of his reach

3. Prepare myself for the oh-so-fun game of "Pick Up Everything I Drop At Least 50 Times"

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but my baby Noah is so darn easy, it's almost creepy.

I mean, he's so easy-going that I'm starting to feel mega-guilty here.

To give you the full experience with this post, I should really snap a picture of myself and put it up here. But I think I still have an iota of vanity left, so I voted that idea down.

Since Tuesday morning (this is Thursday, right? I keep thinking it's Friday, but I guess it's not yet, even though it feels like it), I've had a grand total of eight and a half hours of sleep.

For those of you who are also sleep-deprived, I'll do the division for you: That's about four hours each day.

Noah had his surgery last Monday, March 24. They had to do what they held out as the worst-case scenario: two small incisions to insert a camera to look around, then one long incision to actually get at what they were there for.

And they had to take out more than they were expecting: His cyst was bigger than they had thought, and it was attached right where his small intestine meets his large intestine (which they said was the least likely and worst possible spot). Then, they discovered an outpouching on his small intestine called a diverticulum -- which they said only 2 percent of the population develops genetically -- and that happened to be attached to his appendix, so they took that out, too.

So basically, they were just ripping stuff left and right out of my baby's belly.