a do-do poem

diaper, changing sheet, wipes
armed with my three-pack
i’m safe

except do-do don’t always work like dat
safe
sometimes it just runs.
its own course
swiftly saturating all white space
super absorbent polymer my ass
flooding elastic gathering yellow
squeezing from sides
pushing past tape
sloshing around baby’s back
streaming down baby’s legs

But
waterproof changing sheet can put a stop to this
do-do don’t learn how to go through dat yet
but do-do know to make the baby wiggle at the wrong angle
and land where the sheet don’t cover

then wipes alone can’t help
Wash.
Everything.

soak baby clothes and bed sheet now now
in hot hot water
tackle this bright, stubborn, staining yellow
bathe naked, screaming, sleepy baby

fresh clothes
fresh sheets
put baby to sleep
change soaking water
wash stained clothes
once?

do-do do know how to direct your day.

Smash cake and shabu shabu

The baby turned one recently and we bought a smash cake. He played around with it a bit, but he didn’t smash it like we thought he would. Surely, if we had put it out of his reach and told him not to touch it he would have tried everything to smash it with all his might.

In true birthday weekend style, the following day we went to have lunch with some family he hadn’t met before. It was in a private, tatami room at a shabu-shabu restaurant. Very Japanese set-up and quite comfortable. They even prepared a little futon for baby where he enjoyed a nice long nap while the rest of us, 11 in total, ate.

Before going to the restaurant, I didn’t really mind shabu-shabu. But I think I can now say I don’t care for it. My husband drew the same conclusion, and when I was telling another gentleman that we went to a shabu-shabu restaurant, he said he doesn’t really like it. I later asked a colleague and she didn’t like it either. Who loves shabu-shabu? How is boiling strips of unseasoned pork yourself and then eating it with sesame or citrus-based sauce so popular?

Anyway, the tempura, sashimi, mochi soup and bean paste ice cream were good, especially the soup and the ice cream.

Pillow Talk (Dreaming of Sleep)

I spent the better part of yesterday thinking about a pillow. More accurately, how my face felt against that soft pillow in the morning before I was awoken by shrieks. No, a shriek.

During the feeding session that followed, all I could think about was how good it would feel when I got back to that pillow.

Many other demands followed that feeding and by 10:00 p.m., when I got close to the pillow again, I chose a firmer one.

I knew sleep would be a challenge with a newborn. And it is.

It’s been two months now, and we’ve had two successive five-hour nights, so let’s hope that trend continues.

The boy came two days after his due date and a day after the doctor declared that he was nowhere near to coming out. We scheduled an induction for the following week. But by that same night, he started to make his way. To cut a long story short, I got to the hospital 11:45 a.m. the following day and he was born at 12:01 p.m.

1529476183885~2

Here’s something I jotted down while just staring at him soon after he was born :

Nostrils like little butterfly wings. No, moth wings. Little ones. Opening and closing impatiently. No, they seem to reach their limit quickly because of their small size. Flapping, no, quickening in the breeze of his new breath.