i have two ears and a heart, don't i?

Good news! We have another crazy neighbor. I "met" her today, and by met I mean we had an enounter. I was out with Ollie, who was taking care of business. From the top floor of our building rang the noise of a door slamming followed immediately by a woman yelling "Avery! Avery! Slow down!" Soon we saw the woman headed down the stairs, and it was obvious that Avery was her massive dog, who, as it seemed, is not very good at stairs. Down all three flights Avery tried to bolt, while our upstairs neighbor strained to control the beast that must be twice her body weight. I apologized for Ollie barking and quickly moved to another spot of lawn where monster dog was out of sight (though I could still hear "Avery no! Avery!"). I thought we were free and clear, and when Ollie finished we headed back inside. Bad timing, because Avery and owner walked up the stairs on the other side at the exact same time. So we met at the second floor landing, and when Avery saw Ollie, it was all upstairs lady could do to hold him back. My dog and I nearly sprinted to our door, and while I tried to unlock the door, she yelled "Hurry!" Have you ever been yelled at while trying to use a key? I imagine it's like being yelled at while trying to diffuse a bomb. Did she think I wasn't hurrying? Did the look of terror in my eyes fail to communicate how badly I wanted to get away from Avery? Every day brings a new friend here in our neck of the woods.

Ivy finds the above story troubling. 

to the beat

Ollie trapped himself under the crib. It took an impressive amount of skill to wiggle through the small gap between crib and floor, a skill which he then forgot or lost or whatever happens to skills, and he couldn't wiggle his way back out. Realizing the severity of his predicament, Ollie started barking his most desperate bark and staring at me as if I would know what to do. The only thing I could think to do was laugh. So there we were, Ollie trying to squeeze his body through an obviously too small space, giving up, howling, and me laughing at his pathetic(ness? ism? icity?). Then, after about twenty minutes of being a terrible person, I made my best attempts to help him out. I didn't want to lift the crib, since Ivy was sleeping in it, so I tried coaxing him out. I failed. Repeatedly. It was only after I grabbed the bag of marshmallows that Ollie became excited enough to scramble out from his prison. And so I learned that my dog's will to eat a marshmallow is greater than his will to live a life free of confinement. I can relate.

scaramouche

Earlier this morning...

Ivy: I'm awake!
Me: Ivy, maybe you should go back to sleep for a little while.
Ivy: Nope! I'm awake!
Me: Ok, I'm going to sleep for ten more minutes.
Ivy: Nope! Hold me!
Me: Are you hungry? Need a diaper change? Tummy ache?
Ivy: Nope! I just want to stare at stuff.
Me: And you don't want to stare at stuff from your bassinet?
Ivy: Nope! And if you leave me in here I'll do the grunting thing, then the scrunchy face thing, then make the pre-cry noises. It's not worth it. Trust me.
Me: Fine. You win.
Ivy: Of course I do.

Before we left the hospital, I had a final check with Dr. N. "I feel great!", I arrogantly declared, then asked when I could get back to an active lifestyle. "Listen to your body", he said, then warned, "You're going to be fatigued." HOGWASH, I thought. Fatigued? Me? No way. I'm invincible! I have a baby! I'm so happy! I want to run five miles! Cut take to an hour later and I'm crying uncontrollably. For absolutely no reason at all. It didn't take long for the sleepless nights and the mass hormone exodus to catch up to me. Fatigued? Yes. Thankfully, my mom was here and was an immense help, as was (is) Stephen. And now that we're establishing a routine, I'm learning to adjust. One of the best pieces of advice that I heard pre-baby was (I'm paraphrasing) that there's a reason the safety videos on airplanes instruct parents to secure their oxygen masks first before helping children. So I'm learning the art of the nap. I'm learning to be ok with having a dirty dish in the sink, Ollie's toys on the floor, and laundry that's backing up. I'm learning that taking a twenty minute walk every day does wonders for my sanity. And I'm learning that taking care of myself is essential for taking care of my sweet babe.

over troubled waters

I really didn't anticipate the problems procrastinating my last name change would create. For a year it really wasn't a big deal. I'd say it wasn't really a deal at all. But then offspring entered the picture and suddenly things like "legality" and "insurance" and "birth certificate" became a big part of our lives, and it was sort of too late to try and make the switch, and then I got the new drivers license and now it looks like I might be a Morley for a while longer, which I guess still isn't really a big deal BUT my insecurities get the better of me and I feel judged and I overcompensate with verbal vomit. Was that run-on sentence confusing? Allow me to show, not tell. Every time we sign in at any given medical facility (a common occurance as of late), they ask my name, my husband's name, and Ivy's name, and after I shamefully say "Morley, Walter, Walter"  I then try and make my ring and band visible, and start in on my well rehearsed "yeah, we've been married for two years and I still haven't changed my name, silly me, I just can't seem to get around to it, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah, defending my honor, etc." As if the receptionist at hospital registration cares about wedlock.

Ivy jumped from 6 pounds 12 ounces to 7 pounds 7 ounces in one week. FINALLY, another member of the Walter home who really knows how to eat. Stephen knows how to nibble. I know how to put. it. away. And apparently so does Ivy, as evidenced by her new cheeks:

my eyebrows

During our hospital stay we became well acquainted with many different nurses. We liked some, disliked others, and totally loved one. Amy the night nurse was such a kick in the pants.  Amy hates computers. Unfortunately for Amy, everything the nurses do must be entered in the computer. So every time she tried to give me medicine, or check Ivy's vitals, we'd watch her try and scan our wrist bands, which never worked, then she'd say "Ah, dammit!", then reboot the computer, try to scan the wrist bands again, say "Dammit!" when that failed, then finally scan one more time, and for some reason it would work. This happened every time.

back now

I've read new mom blogs before, and thought to myself "Wow, your baby can yawn. Big whoop. Call me when he's juggling." I've been SO BORED reading about tummy time and baby baths. But what I failed to realize is how remarkable tummy time and baby baths are when it's your baby. Burps have never been so fascinating. So please forgive me if I treat the small baby stuff as though they are major world events. They're the new major events in my world.

Speaking of....

Ivy pulls faces. Technically involuntarily, but I can't help but project. Like after a sloppy swaddle or poorly changed diaper, she'll look at me, very concerned, like this:

As if to say, "I'm not entirely convinced that you know what you're doing."
And then sometimes she just gets goofy:

by all accounts

Baby Ivy is one week old today.

That's not a finger in the bottom corner, it's a toy. I swear.

That was probably the quickest week of my life. Also the most emotional. Seriously. I saw a statue of a dog and I started crying. Hormones anyone? But teary moments aside, it's been the most incredible seven days. Babies grow fast. Ivy has transformed from monkey-limbed baby to having not one, but TWO rolls on each thigh. She also sticks her tongue out when i stick my tongue out at her. And she now stays awake for more than fifteen minutes every day. Not much more, but whatever.

Is this a mommy blog now? Can you blog about you children and not be a mommy blogger?