13. Three Noble Moons

3 months old and my evil genius is hard at work devising new and exotic times of night to wake up.

Granted, we've committed every sleep conditioning crime there is, but I was really hoping she might rise above those tired statistics. Bill will suffer no should-dos, and instead follows a dark and delicate compass he and Noble seem to share. He insists he's just watching to see when she looks tired. I dread the night I'm in charge of putting her to sleep, and I think she can tell. I've never seen her look tired, just hungry and suspicious.

My instincts - compulsions - have grown more aggressive in the past month. We were on our way to the store last night and she was crying in the back seat; maybe she was lonely? Optimistically I decided to forge on, but a nagging sympathy made me turn around before I left the neighborhood. 

For a while there back in month 2, I was feeling strong enough to let her cry, ignoring my curdling blood and short-circuiting brain in favor of some paltry accomplishment. I thought I really had this French parenting thing down - delayed gratification, laissez-faire et la reste. Alas, my baby is 13 weeks old and I'm just an average, hovering American who speaks passable French.

We took her to Community First's Village of Lights this weekend, where she took in the festivities from the warmth of the Moby wrap. Thanks to the epileptic flash of the synchronized light show, Trans-Siberian Orchestra's most revered work is now the soundtrack to my nightmares. She was fine, awe-struck even, during our walk through that well-meaning blinking hell, but that night in the car something woke up and tore out of her. It's a grating, frantic, threatening scream, and has resurfaced a few times since. During a late visit with family Monday night she went from smiles and grins to tortured desperation (poor Debra!) that raged on until I sat with her in the bathtub, where she struggled to catch her breath. Next time we're going to try mushrooms.

12. Noble Holds Court

Ever flown with an infant? But have you ever flown with an infant on breastmilk? Some of us might consider a bloody mary, a dose of dramamine or some chewing gum to be their MVP on a flight, but I've never known anything to relax a body like that sugar under the shirt. Legs danglin all over the arm rests, eyes buggin, diaper loose, shirt off and she's like, shhhhhhh, I'mbloatedIjustwannawatch *bleccccccch* Ghostbusers.

Twelve weeks old, and Noble's just returned from a weekend in NY. She made about 30 new friends on her tidy 3 day tour of her yankee family tree, humbly receiving supplicants in her jammies or while still at the breast. Magnanimous as ever, she agreed to appear in a great deal of photos.

We use an app with assorted baby sleeps sounds (it will run in the background on your phone, moms!) to calm her in the car and at bedtime, and her favorite setting is the sound of a clanking subway. Sunday evening as we rode the A train up to Inwood to visit the Doornbos Babes she sat still, mesmerized for 30 minutes gazing contentedly at her fellow passengers. No squirming, just people watching like the rest of us. 

In the chilly glow of midtown Manhattan she delighted the crowd in her alligator suit (an homage to Auntie Hilary Bettis' debut of Alligator playing now at The New Georges,) on our way to Rockefeller Center. In the arms of her granddad with her tiny pink face and big glassy eyes, she was carried under thousands of lights for a good hour.

And then promptly fell asleep.

  I had no idea how well this kid would travel, or how much she would develop. While in NY she rolled over, back to front. She can now fit 90% of her fist in her mouth, and she's starting to sit up in her lounger thanks to all the ab conditioning we've been working on. Arching her back to assist being picked up, she is starting to inch off the edge of her swing. Next time we're on a plane we'll have to buy her a seat to keep her feet out of strangers' laps.

Now that she's back at home after being so exalted, Noble requests to be held constantly. It's kind of a drag, especially when she absently strokes your face with her velvet hands or nuzzles the cool soft of her cheek against yours on accident. It's like, you want to get unpacked but you're stuck in front of a mirror showing her how excellent she is over your shoulder. Or you spend an extra hour in the bath because she's smiling reeeeaaal hard when you submerge everything but her cherubic face. Who has time for this??? 

Baby cuddles for sale. Cheap.

11. A Noble Moniker

Hi, I'm Noble. I'm a virgo, born just this past September. My mom, an aquarius, and dad, a gemini, thought it'd be a winning idea to borrow the elegant portmanteau from Outkast and name me Noble Aquemini Moreno. I don't have any feelings about it. Yet. But those who've tried pronouncing my middle name have admitted to some feelings of inadequacy. Personally, I can't even spell the thing much less speak it aloud. Maybe we'll learn together? Let's break it down.

Aquemini:
                     (uh-kwem-uh-nye) 1. Originating from the rap duo, André 3000 (a gemini) and Big Boi (an aquarius), aka OutKast, an Aquemini is someone whose lifestyle or personal swag is the embodiment of the inventiveness, tone, creativity and energy of the album itself and the movement of meaningful, stimulating hip-hop culture; someone with a firm grasp of their heritage in-hand who is effortlessly fresh, confident, and enjoys their own uniqueness in such a way that they attract platinum status. A partner or best friend; someone you can really depend on.
"it's him and I, Aquemini"

Another thing I'm having trouble with is staying upright. I work myself very nearly to a seated position often, but then I'll notice my feet again, and suddenly I just have to be near them. Do you guys have feet? They're amazing!!! Not sure what they're for yet. I've been using the assistance of a Bumbo seat and it really saves the day sometimes. Delicious, too. (Thanks A.D.!)

Mom and Dad are bringing out all the seats this week. I think my bum's still girlishly compact, but they say I'm especially well endowed in the seating department thanks to generous contributions from family and friends.

Check me out in my bouncer, moments before I pooped in it!

(Thanks Ragsdales!)

10. Dear Noble,

Thank you. For your good humour, your generous coos and gummy grin. Your single dimple brings us all into the brisk air of clumsy, blind love. Your singularly fetching half-Caesar hairline drives me to distraction.

Thank you for tying my hands while the world is in crisis. For clutching my hair in exuberant need and frustration. For reminding me with your escalating screams that you could be the next Mister Rodgers. Or 5000% the opposite. Maybe you're just gassy?

Will I just be along for the ride in your life? Will we even ride together? Personally, I insisted on walking alone, but if you go this route I hope you'll choose appropriate foot ware; I've been unequivocally scolded by my chiropractor. If you want to ride with Daddy more than me, I'll also understand. It really comes down to musical preference, I suppose.

You're 2 months and 11 days old, and I thank you. I'm hoisting your 11.5 lbs regularly, and still I thank you. You've grown 2 inches so far and are stretching and kicking your way to a third. 

You're so sturdy your ears don't stay folded to the side of your head anymore. You've started to notice when I cut more than your finger's nail, and may have had your first punishing introduction to Newton's 2nd law of motion against Daddy's desk yesterday. If you were paying any attention. You've noticed your feet and have learned to keep a watchful eye lest someone change your shoes again. 

You've begun to covet the toys of others, and have been awarded screen time with lasting success.

It's your first Thanksgiving, and you're not yet privy to the writings of Howard Zinn or the ghastly birth of this holiday, but in our quest to dignify every day with gratitude you may be asked what you're thankful for at the table later. Just cue me before you spit up.

Love you, 

Mom 

8. Ignoble Lengths

Shortly after Noble's birth, my hair resumed the irksome shedding I was so used to before getting pregnant. Increased levels of estrogen during gestation prevented hair loss, resulting in the thick mane you always hear those waddling beauties raving about. The persistent inconvenience of picking hair off our clothes, out of Bill's beard, out of my food, and out of Noble's armpits really should have been enough to get it cut already. Waffling about whether or not to pursue "the cut" while wrestling with infant fistfuls of hair and steady fall out, I noticed that mania had begun to replace the mane.

Way into fists around here

During labor my hair was my favorite prop, whipping hither and thither during contractions in centrifugal fury, the key force propelling me from one hell to the next.
Seven weeks later, it was just weighing down my curls and eating up precious minutes every day. And washing it? Thanks to baking soda and apple cider vinegar I only have to wash it once every two weeks but when the bill comes, I pay in handfuls. So, enough.  

In a political climate like this, it's the closest thing to moving to Canada. Having trouble digesting your current state of hairs? Pull the faithless elector card and get them to make the cut while they still can! A makeover will hardly soothe the sting of our election, but if you need a pick-me-up to get to work on brightening the future, pick up those scissors and get nasty with it. Consider the perks!
Noble rarely has my hair in her mouth, her diaper, or wrapped around her neck anymore. She doesn't get stabbed in the eye when I'm breastfeeding either, which is a real pip considering the razor sharp split ends I was sporting last week. 

I wish the very best for the next four years, dear readers. I really do. If you're in Austin and want to get teamed up with some allies, check out Austin Justice Coalition for some next steps. 

Much love and safety,
Amber

7. Noble Substitutions

Monday was our first big foray into costuming. Cue the milestone bib:

Thanks to an array of spit-ups, blow outs and inclement weather, we were privileged to wear many costumes. Transforming from "milk monster" to "crochet bunny" to "cowgirl" to "naked and angry" was simplified by our decision to stay home. Fortuitous, since cleaning up that splashy cowgirl patty was a real barn burner.

Tonight we swapped this

for a few hours on the town. For our first night away from our seven week old cooing, pooing bundle of grunts, we chose a quick ballroom dance lesson (should our dance card ever open up again) and a 3D showing of Doctor Strange. An action packed four hours to draw my focus  away from the no doubt harrowing scene playing out at home. My sister has worked with newborns younger than Noble, so I told myself not to sweat the inevitability that she might cry the whole time we were gone. Auntie Jade is one of Noble's favorites, presumably because Jade is the baby craziest of us all, and the closest thing to mommy without all that bothersome nectar leaking everywhere.

The troubles Jade shared with us when we got home were the same ones we've only just learned work arounds for. Not solutions, just distractions. Most of them involve breast milk on tap, or stomping around the house until she's confused enough to forget why she was crying in the first place. When in doubt, feed her, right?

Even I have my limits. Without a small arsenal of nipple shields, which perform a multitude of conveniences, no one would be drinking from these fountains.

 These are not as modern a marvel as I'd expected. Dating back to the sixteenth century when they were crafted from wood and other horrors, they have been my MVP since day 1.

Right up there with this guy

6. Noble Takes The Plunge

Day 37

A full month of sponge baths, damp wipe-downs and spit cleanings haven't prepared me for the real thing. Last week we had a family shower, wherein Noble's head was gently banged against the shower wall (Bill) shortly before she got punched in the skull drying off (Amber). Bathing is slippery business, and we were all a little nervous.
This week, her five week anniversary ushered in a funk I found both adorable and unnecessary, so we headed for the sink.

Thanks to this fabulous apparatus by Blooming Bath, Noble's first bath was a great success.

If you're familiar with a Blooming Bath, you're already a fan. If not, you might consider the investment. My sink is tight, so I put a pot with an inverted lid beneath it to adjust the height and let the water absorb, warming the seat up nicely. The petals can overlap to corral about an inch or two of water, so she was able to submerge her bum in her first non-fecal puddle.

Aside from sweat, diaper business and birth grime, there wasn't much to wash away.  As a fan of preserving precious sebum, I hope not to have to bathe her too often. As a fan of this accentuated baby pattern baldness however, I will look forward to any chance I get. Bring on the blow outs!

Fully dressed.

5. Noble vs The Gourds

 Day 34

Today, we visited Tarrytown's United Methodist Church to pick some pumpkins for the obligatory pumpkin patch pic. Noble, bonnet held high, thought this was an excellent idea when I briefed her on the plan.

We picked a cozy spot and nestled her in.

But suddenly

she realized she'd been left to fight the terrible gourds alone

and to her colossal horror, we just kept snapping.

4. Noble's Gas

Day 32

I believe 

the source of all my daughter's troubles

are bubbles. 

I tend to think

nursing to comfort her 

is a bit like cheating 

when Bill can only bounce

sing

swing

jiggle

jostle

I often forget

to try the pacifier

or play her favorite song

and instead throw open my shirt

making her troubles double 

and starting the cycle again

*Absolutely reactive gas compound

3. Dear Noble,

Today you are 23 days new. Your tear ducts are starting to wake up, I'm finding more and more debris in the tiny, dark recess between your thumb and forefinger. and your umbilical stump is waiting patiently under your dresser to be saved from whence it fell last week.  Your're averaging at least one new experience and visitor daily, you're coming to accept the reality that pacifiers require some commitment, and kick whichever breast you're not nursing from in appreciation of our expert parenting. You dress exclusively in second hand fashions, tolerate tummy time through muffled sobs and show great poise when hiccuping. You spend most hours eating, sleeping, or crying about not eating or sleeping.

You go from this...

...to this with charming nonchalance.

Your smiles set off a chain reaction of bliss in anyone around, and your tears are just salty enough to bring out the flavor in our blurry days. You are crusty, smelly and very easy to love.

You enjoyed the ambiance of our neighborhood cantina, nursed al fresco at the farmer's market, and saw all your grandparents this past weekend.

We also squeezed in a double rainbow, which I hope you'll remember because your dad had a hell of a time trying to photograph it.

You've been wrapped up tight against Daddy's heart beat while he played a two-handed video game and again against me while I did some two-handed gardening. We consider this to be "revolutionary."

 Thanks Messinas!

Yesterday I left you for 3 hours while I saw a movie, then took you to dinner at the Nortons' so you could be licked by a puppy and pawed at by your future babysitters (not pictured).

Then the unthinkable happened. We brought you home, I read you a story while you nursed for a reasonable 30 minutes, then your dad walked you to sleep. You stayed in this state for almost 7 hours. Dad is (predictably) optimistic about tonight. I am terrified.

Sleep well, dream girl.

                    Love,

                    Mom