Geaux Saints!

Nick, Nola and I are so excited about the Saints season kicking off to a stellar start. Here we have a picture of little Miss Nola in a Drew Brees' jersey that her Auntie Jaimee gave her.

While we're only two games into the season, we already have a game-time ritual that we think gives the Saints lots of luck:

1. The Saints flag is hung before the start of the game.
2. Nick, Nola, Rocky and I all get our respective jerseys on.
3. Rocky goes outside to cope with the fact that he has a jersey on.
4. Mommy feeds and burps Nola.
5. Nola spits up on her jersey and mommy's.
6. The Saints win!

So far, we feel that our little game day ritual has been pretty good luck for our beloved team, so we plan on keeping it up throughout the season.

My Breast Friend

So Nola and my boobs are involved in a very passionate love-hate relationship. Both boobs are equally committed to Nola, while she has an obvious and shameless preference for the left one.

Now to be honest, my boobs have never been equivalent in size, but now -- with all of this preferential treatment -- lefty is much larger. I've had to sneak the right one on her when she least expects it, otherwise it will leak all over the place (which is another gross post-partum side effect that never really registered with me before it actually started happening.)

To complicate this little love triangle, Nola has been pretty abusive to both boobs. She punches them quite frequently -- especially when we are laying down in the evening -- when I'm a little bit less attentive, and allow the boob to sneak away from her mouth. And this punching thing was something that didn't really concern me until I woke up the other morning, and sure enough there was a little bruise on her favorite boob. At first I figured that she may be punching me harder than I thought, but upon closer inspection, it became clearer that the bruise was a hickey!

Now I've assumed all along -- as any parent would -- that she was an advanced child, but this is going a little bit too far. I don't know if Nick and I should sit down and have "the talk" with Nola at this early stage. It does make me wonder if all of those episodes of "Rock of Love Bus" that I watched when I was pregnant somehow seeped through -- and influenced Nola's aggressive and passionate behavior -- especially towards boobs.

Regardless of where she learned it, I do wonder if my boobs are going to make it through a six months to a year of this tumultuous relationship.

After Birth

There's no book entitled "What to Expect Your Body to Look Like After You're Done Expecting," although I think it would be a great addition to Heidi Murkoff's series. I knew that my body wouldn't whip back into the pre-pregnancy state of pudginess, but I didn't anticipate that I would look so much like Mrs. Doubtfire's bodysuit.

I think that my post-partum issues were exacerbated by the fact that I had been prescribed one heck of a strong painkiller, and upon returning home, started working towards earning my keep as a stay-at-home mommy, rather than resting as any sane, stitched-up, sleep-deprived person would do. I would probably still be on the meds (they were great, I have to admit), had it not been for the fact that they were completely constipating... which was the last thing that region of my body needed to deal with at the time.

Speaking of the hinterlands... I've had lots of talks with girlfriends prior to embarking on the baby making journey, but for some reason all of the words of warning ("hemorrhoids," "tearing," "stretch marks...") were deafened by the precious coos of their little babies. It has definitely been worth while, as I glance over at her inquisitive little face, and know that even though my body has been rolled over by Mack Truck, I would do it all over again just to see her smile.