9 days
Anya is nine days old today and so far, everything is going rather swimmingly. She is a very snuggly, cuddly little girl who likes to sleep and loves to nurse and is starting to develop a little bit of chub. Daniel is handling everything well so far, all things considered. Every so often I feel a pang when I see that he needs something I can't help him with because I'm in the middle of breastfeeding or changing her diaper. But he's very taken with his little sister, and says her name with a tone of awe and reverence: "Anya Anya Anya."
What else can I say about the new baby? We're totally in love with her, of course, but other than the tandem diaper changes (when do they potty train, again?), the constant breastfeeding, the endless laundry, and the night wakings, there's not a lot to tell you.
Here, look at a cute picture:
Stuart's parents are here until New Year's Eve, and I'm so glad. Daniel hasn't seen them since July, so he's spending important time with them. My MIL is happy sitting on the couch for hours at a time holding Anya while she sleeps, and my FIL can send Daniel into happy hysterics kicking a ball around the house. The fact that it takes four adults to do what I'm going to have to do on my own in a couple of weeks frightens me, though. I wonder if I'll have opportunities to do certain tasks like use the bathroom and find my lunch without all these extra hands to help with my children.
But for now, we're having a good time. Stuart and I are enjoying watching the TeeVee after Daniel goes to bed. We Netflixed Curb Your Enthusiasm, which is like a raunchy, unscripted version of Seinfeld, starring its co-creator, Larry David. We find it completely hilarious, though if you're going to watch this show with people as wholesome and upstanding as my in-laws, I suggest you skip the "Porno Gil" episode on Disc 1...just sayin'
The biggest glitch so far was last night's dinner. We made pizza from scratch. This is something Stu and I have about once a week, so I didn't expect to screw up. And in fact, everything was fine until the pizzas were in the oven. After less than 15 minutes, we noticed the smell of burning and a lot of smoke seeping out the back burner. It appeared that the pizzas were burning, even though the cheese was barely melted on top. Thinking they couldn't be done, I left them in the oven. This was obviously a mistake, as a few minutes later, smoke was pouring out. There were few frenzied minutes as I ripped the smoke alarm off the wall, Stuart put an exhaust fan in the kitchen window, and my FIL hurriedly pulled the pizzas out of the oven, nearly burning himself, even though he was holding potholders. (Fortunately, the kids were totally oblivious--Anya was sleeping and Daniel was playing with a light switch.) (Hey, did you see that I just referred to my "kids"? Does that make me a real adult now? Yikes.)
So anyway, the good news is that we didn't start any fires or sustain any injuries. The bad news is that eating dinner required the skills of a mediocre surgeon, or perhaps a good butcher. I watched my husband and his parents hacking away at the burnt crust, scraping off the toppings and half-heartedly claiming that The Pizza was "really good if you just don't eat the burned part," while I, far too angry at The Pizza to eat it, munched a peanut butter sandwich. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. I've made pizza hundreds of times, and there was nothing different about the dough or the pans or the oven we used.
(My MIL finally solved the mystery: we set two big pans side by side in the oven, where they barely fit, leaving no room for the heat to circulate around them. Therefore, all the heat was trapped underneath and scorched the bottom of the crust and failing to cook the top. Since Stu and I just make one pizza at a time, this hadn't happened to us before, though I vaguely recall this problem with cookies when I do too many at once. I guess you learn something new every day, huh?)
What else can I say about the new baby? We're totally in love with her, of course, but other than the tandem diaper changes (when do they potty train, again?), the constant breastfeeding, the endless laundry, and the night wakings, there's not a lot to tell you.
Here, look at a cute picture:
Stuart's parents are here until New Year's Eve, and I'm so glad. Daniel hasn't seen them since July, so he's spending important time with them. My MIL is happy sitting on the couch for hours at a time holding Anya while she sleeps, and my FIL can send Daniel into happy hysterics kicking a ball around the house. The fact that it takes four adults to do what I'm going to have to do on my own in a couple of weeks frightens me, though. I wonder if I'll have opportunities to do certain tasks like use the bathroom and find my lunch without all these extra hands to help with my children.
But for now, we're having a good time. Stuart and I are enjoying watching the TeeVee after Daniel goes to bed. We Netflixed Curb Your Enthusiasm, which is like a raunchy, unscripted version of Seinfeld, starring its co-creator, Larry David. We find it completely hilarious, though if you're going to watch this show with people as wholesome and upstanding as my in-laws, I suggest you skip the "Porno Gil" episode on Disc 1...just sayin'
The biggest glitch so far was last night's dinner. We made pizza from scratch. This is something Stu and I have about once a week, so I didn't expect to screw up. And in fact, everything was fine until the pizzas were in the oven. After less than 15 minutes, we noticed the smell of burning and a lot of smoke seeping out the back burner. It appeared that the pizzas were burning, even though the cheese was barely melted on top. Thinking they couldn't be done, I left them in the oven. This was obviously a mistake, as a few minutes later, smoke was pouring out. There were few frenzied minutes as I ripped the smoke alarm off the wall, Stuart put an exhaust fan in the kitchen window, and my FIL hurriedly pulled the pizzas out of the oven, nearly burning himself, even though he was holding potholders. (Fortunately, the kids were totally oblivious--Anya was sleeping and Daniel was playing with a light switch.) (Hey, did you see that I just referred to my "kids"? Does that make me a real adult now? Yikes.)
So anyway, the good news is that we didn't start any fires or sustain any injuries. The bad news is that eating dinner required the skills of a mediocre surgeon, or perhaps a good butcher. I watched my husband and his parents hacking away at the burnt crust, scraping off the toppings and half-heartedly claiming that The Pizza was "really good if you just don't eat the burned part," while I, far too angry at The Pizza to eat it, munched a peanut butter sandwich. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. I've made pizza hundreds of times, and there was nothing different about the dough or the pans or the oven we used.
(My MIL finally solved the mystery: we set two big pans side by side in the oven, where they barely fit, leaving no room for the heat to circulate around them. Therefore, all the heat was trapped underneath and scorched the bottom of the crust and failing to cook the top. Since Stu and I just make one pizza at a time, this hadn't happened to us before, though I vaguely recall this problem with cookies when I do too many at once. I guess you learn something new every day, huh?)
Comments
I also want to let you know that I played our recording (the pieces posted on MySpace) for some very musically literate friends of Ian's boss at a dinner party last night and several of them were really impressed with your playing and kept commenting on how beautiful you sound! :-)