As you may recall, during her gestational months we referred to Maddi by the nickname Pele owing to her tendency to cause eruptions when the wrong sacrifices were offered.
The nickname has been replaced for the most part by Maddykins and Lambchop (because she baas like a little lamb when she’s passing gas), but it is no less fitting than it was before. While we are getting more sleep and enjoying a bit more spare time than we did in that first difficult week, there are a few new things to contend with. The rumblings that used to occur deep within my stomach before the vomit eruptions of early pregnancy are now occuring within the belly of our little girl. Unfortunately, while we always knew from whence Pele’s wrath would shower when I was pregnant, it is now an entirely unpredictable matter.
If the rumble is followed by a gurgle, we know that the blast zone is to the south. However, the most devastation occurs when the blast zone is to the north. The lack of ground cover means that whatever spews forth from the belly of Mount Maddi will bathe a greater area in liquid destruction. And there is no warning gurgle. One minute, you will be looking at Maddi’s sweet little face — the next, your favorite shirt is bathed in white lava.
Our volcano goddess is not discriminating in regards to what is ruined and what is spared. Cute sleepers, velvet overalls, plain white onesies, pajamas, or my only nursing top … nothing is sacred when Pele unleashes her torrent of destruction. Sacrifices are futile — she doesn’t care whether it’s formula or breastmilk. It all comes out one way or another.
But at least she’s sleeping for three or four hours at a stretch once in awhile.
And for your viewing pleasure, Maddi at 2 weeks old:
