Take this week's photo, for instance. Mayhem was asleep. I thought, "I'll just move him from his crib to this blanket and get a few pictures." You can probably guess where this is going. I have photographic evidence of what he thought.
"Take my picture-- it ain't happenin', lady!"
(In my head, Mayhem is very sarcastic. He also thinks I have the brainpower of one of those broken bricks out in my garden.)
After my first attempt didn't work out as planned it was time to enact Operation Milk Mustache (lame name for a covert operation, I know, but everything else I came up with sounded like something a psycho would do to your drink in a bar right before you wake up in a dumpster or something.) Thirteen minutes later, Mayhem was pretty woozy and quite cooperative.
I felt like raising my hands in victory, also.
"What can I do to them tonight?"
Mayhem has been living up to his nickname the past few days. Monday night he became absolutely furious at me for daring to wipe his dirty behind while changing his diaper and proceeded to scream and then hold his breath until his lips were the shade of eggplant. I was pretty calm because I knew eventually he'd pass out and then start breathing again, but I still didn't like the idea of my brand new kid pitching a hissy fit and not being big enough to understand any punishment. He did it again last night and this morning, although not as long or as intense.
Today was his official two-week check up and five days since his last weigh in. I feel like I'm trying to grow a wrestler or something with all this "weigh in" business.
"And in the blue corner, it's Baby Mayhem, weighing in at a whopping 6 pounds, 4 ounces and
I was quite proud of Boots and myself for packing it to him the past few days. (I've been feeding him and then handing him off to Boots for a supplemental bottle and it has helped.) I was just hoping for six pounds.
That brings his weight up 6 ounces from birth and his height one inch. He's still little, but he's growing.
Yesterday his cord fell off in his diaper. I didn't feel the need to fish it out and keep it. The whole body-parts-falling-off-randomly thing is kinda gross. Dried up umbilical cords are gross. Isn't there some nasty movie where the kid eats his own cord years later? Gag!
At the doctor's office he peed on his face when I was changing him into a dry diaper to be weighed. I felt kinda bad for him, but I laughed a little anyway. Then, when the nurse stuck his heel to do the PKU retest he screamed and arched his back and peed again. This time the pee ran up his back, out the diaper, and wet the paper on the table. That thin paper isn't very absorbent though.
Last week, I was kind of sad thinking about how he was a week old already and would never be this little ever again. This week, I'm happy that we've kept him alive a solid two weeks and he's doing good. I like him being cuddly and small, but he will be more fun when he can maybe at least pretend to listen to me when I'm talking to him.
**This week's background blanket was a gift to Mayhem from my step-sister. Matching burp cloth not pictured. :) **