Par Condicio

Par condicio

1. An Italian broadcast law guaranteeing equal treatment to all political parties during elections

2. equal treatment; equal opportunity

- from Wiktionary

Par condicio reigns in our house, or at least I try aim for said state when it concerns Peanut.

I'm a Juventus fan and Dad is a Napoli fan? Par condicio. Peanut will be fairly exposed to both teams; Mon Amour and I are in full agreement that she can choose her own team as long as it's not AS Roma. Ha.

I speak Romanaccio, Dad speaks Napolitano. Peanut excels at the Roman exclamatory "Aò"; the Neapolitan "Uè" is a little more challenging for her. Par condicio.

I have gotten in the habit of saying things twice to Peanut; once in Italian and once in English. Par condicio. 

We've started some baby sign language as well, to help her eventually make the connection between both languages as well as be able to do some rudimentary communication with us before she actually starts speaking. The signs for Mama and Papà have yet to be more than something for her to gaze at us in amusement as we make silly hand gestures, but she's imitating the sign for Milk even if she hasn't fully made the connection between making the gesture and then latching onto the Boob Factory.

She seems to have made a connection pretty quickly with "Up", blowing raspberries in an effort to make a P sound and holding her arms out in the vague direction of Mama. Imitating us saying "Papà" is more of the same, double raspberries and a whole lotta drool.

But here is where  I feel like I have failed in my attempts at par condicio: "Mama" is getting to be a pretty regular occurrence in her baby babble, usually when she's upset. I thought it was my imagination until Mon Amour and another couple of our friends confirmed it as well. 

On one hand it's one of those silly contests between parents "Ha, she said my name first." But he's already fretting over not being able to spend as much time as he wants with her due to his working hours and as such I was pushing more on "Papà," hoping that it would be her first intentionally pronounced word.*

So though I know the M sound is easier for babies to pronounce, I feel irrationally guilty whenever I see Mon Amour's face fall a little when she calls for me.

So much for par condicio...


* Her first word (Unintentional Category) was "Boob," heard by both Mon Amour and myself one fussy night when she was just over 3 months old. "Did you just hear...?" "Yeah, she said 'Boob'..."

Decisive

Mon Amour just called me from work for the third time this morning

"I'm fed up, love."
"What's wrong, babe?"
"What do you say to getting married October 25th 2013?"
"Ok, but maybe not that exact date."
"Awww why not?"
"Because Peanut's birthday should be a special day just for her, and not have to share it with Mom and Dad's anniversary"
"You're right. October 26th it is then."

Heh. :)

All I remember is the chorus

When changing her diaper I have a habit of singing Digital Underground's Humpty Dance, 'cept around these parts we call it "Doin' the Monkey Butt"

Wait until I start mangling the verses of Pearl Jam..

4 month sleep regression...

...or beginning stages of teething or whatever the fuck this plague is

SUUUUUUCKS.

Of course she's been a pretty easy baby in this regard up until now, so Mon Amour and I haven't really had a sustained bout of sleepless nights since she was born. The occasional one off yes, but we are discovering the true meaning of sleep deprivation now.

Also she refuses to sleep until she's had a proper poo. If she's overtired yet won't go down for a nap, I can count on a poo explosion to happen within the (extremely fussy) hour. And with a full diaper she's happy to roll off to dreamland...

Go figure.

You bet your ass I'm Idonea

Subtitled: Observations upon taking the written theoretical test for my Italian driving license, some 20 years after getting my US license

• once I have my license, as a neopatentate (new driver - ha) I can't drive Mon Amour's car for a year (horsepower limits for new drivers) nor go over 100 km an hour for 3 years.

• Studying the road rules book Mon Amour insisted on getting me ("But there's an app for that!" said I), I woke Peanut from her nap one afternoon because I was laughing so hard at the phrase "motorcycles and scooters should not slalom between cars stopped at a traffic light" I asked Mon Amour if he was sure this book was printed in Italy.

• I'm pretty sure at least 50% of said road rules are almost completely ignored in real life. Because otherwise Italy should have some damn orderly traffic instead of the masterfully chaotic vehicular cluster fuck seen on a daily basis.

• I take issue with a single solid white line dividing opposing traffic lanes on a contiguous stretch of asphalt, instead of the yellow lines like the US. Considering a solid white line can also divide two lanes going in the same direction, that seems like a really unintuitive choice asking for accidents.

• when I was knocked up, everyone was all "Oh you don't have to wear your seatbelt since you're preggo" and I would just boogle at the idea that possibly being thrown from a car was in the best interests of both myself and my unborn child. Turns out said exception is only for preggo a with certain medically documented issues.

• it might be false memory and/or my grandma ninja driving style, but I also boggle at
- passing in intersections: Ok
- passing on the right: Ok in certain scenarios
- passing on a curve in a one way road: also Ok

• Mon Amour has ALL THE LICENSES. Which means he can chauffeur, drive a bus, a semi, a row truck, whatever. He can DRIVE ALL THE THINGS. So he broke my balls this week because I wasn't doing the quizzes from the book he insisted on getting me, but doing the ones on the free iPhone app.

"These are the 2013 quizzes. Who knows where that app got its quizzes from."
"It says 2012 Ministry of Transport quizzes. It's easier to do them on my iPhone while nursing Peanut than trying to hold her and a great bloody book."
"And who knows if that's true. You need to do 300 quizzes and memorize them all so you'll be guaranteed to pass."
"Well these books were printed in 2010, saying to use the 2011 answer key tool. And I know how best to study for me, so stop breaking my balls."

He thinks I passed by culo (sheer luck) I won't know how many I missed until tomorrow, but seeing as we got 3 hours of sleep due to a teething Peanut, he might not be that far off mark...

EDIT: HAHAHAHAHA I only got one answer wrong out of forty (4 wrong you pass, 5 wrong you fail) and I knew I was probably second guessing myself to death, due to aforementioned baby teething grogginess. Mon Anour still winds me up by saying it was sheer culo, but in the phone with one of his best friends I heard him being impressed considering my (according to him) lack of preparation and the fact that I took it in Italian(the exam uses some turns of phrase not very common in everyday parlance...)

Giggles

She falls asleep on the boob and giggles in her sleep.

So cute it's like someone punched through your chest wall and very lightly yet firmly wrapped a hand around your heart and gave the briefest of threatening squeezes.

I giggle at her infant hair loss. She's losing it in a reverse monk's tonsure, leaving a little baby toupee on top. I remain firmly convinced that all babies go through a a phase where if you painted some black under their nose, it's like Anne Gedes meets Baby Hitler...

Talking to Myself: Manners

"Peanut, didn't yo mamma teach you it's not polite to talk with a boob in your mouth?

Oh right..."

If someone stuck a mic in my house during the day, they might wonder at my sanity.

Mon Amour does a wicked impression of me cooing "Who's gotta stinky monkey butt?" when changing Peanut. Laughing with the stomach flu was painful...

Mommy Merit Badges I Could Do Without

Breastfeeding while sick with stomach flu: I haven't felt that dehydrated since having a fever while in labor.

And though we thought Peanut had benefitted from maternal antibodies via boob, this morning has been our introduction to Infant Projectile Vomiting 101. It's not the vomit that kills me - by now I'm pretty well immune to baby bodily effluvium - but feeling her tiny little body seize up in spasm makes me burst out in tears.

Gah.

Baby Poo, Hippy Style - A Brief Review

So I'm finally able to use the cloth diapers now that Lil' Peanut is chunky style (5,6 kg, 62 cm at last week's pediatrician's visit)

Bum Genius Freetime All-in-ones: the awesome sauce. I have 18 of these and even with no dryer and lousy winter weather, they dry within 2 days and I only occasionally have to dip into the others or my stash of disposables. They contain the poo explosions like nobody's business. We've recently moved to using them with a doubler at night since I change Peanut at night only under duress, because otherwise she wakes up too much and wants to plaaaaaay. So far there's little to no leakage in the morning with the doubler.

The only con is that I got the ones with snaps instead of Velcro since most reviews mentioned that the Velcro eventually gives out. Peanut with her chunky little thighs consistently seems to be between two snaps, though. So I'm either worried that it's too tight and digging into the precious baby chunk, or that it's too loose and there will be leaks 'n Oxiclean soaking later.

Verdict: Woot.

My other stash is 24 flats with 4 Bummi wraps. These took me a while to figure out the best way to fold for reduced bulk. I'm not as fond of these (and definitely won't be using them outside the house) because the fabric around the leg wicks moisture onto whatever she's wearing. Plus the wraps are one use only if she has the poo explosion.

Verdict: Meh.

Lil' Monkey Butt is done chomping on my tit, so Imma wrap this up with an overall thumbs up for the Eco green option of cloth diapers.

Sadistic

Whoever invented hand-wash only baby clothes must have had a bloody silver spoon in their mouth to go with the maid/laundry service.

Or was crazy. Or was just a sadistic asshole.

And I will hug it and squeeze it and call it George

What is the biological imperative for wanting to hug such a tiny fragile little being so so so tight and crush it against you while snarfling and omnomnoming the fragrant baby pudge?

Cannibalism and impulses to lovingly cause bodily harm surely aren't conducive to the propagation of the species.

In other news the postpartum loss of pregnancy hair has finally kicked in; my bathroom looks like a yeti sneezed. Blergh.

New Parent Tips #1

If Peanut is asleep in her infant seat in the living room and you and Dad slip into the bedroom for some Happy Fun Adult Times, turn off the damn baby monitor unless you want her to wake up right as things are getting interesting...

Bad Mamma

Fuck, I'm turning into a mommy blog.

To be expected I guess, when you have the Tit Gnome snarfling away neigh constantly and you're tired of trying to play Angry Birds one handed on your iPhone.

Do you get shunned from the mommy blog clique for using foul language?

Or for admitting that you've knicknamed Peanut:
- the aforementioned Tit Gnome
- Boob Mite
- Boobaholic
- Boobiedipendente
- Cacciona (Big shitter)
- Golosona (glutton)
- Spaccaculo (Ass breaker)
- Frog face (not just because of the boob seeking tongue twitch, but lets face it, infants are vaguely froggy even without it. My frog is cuter than your frog, though. Unless she's implacably screaming at 3am. Then it's debatable...)
- Grunty McGruntypants (followed by...)
- Farty McFartypants (followed by...)
- Poopy McShittypants

What about for admitting that you don't put a hat on her because she fucking hates them and screams bloody murder when you do, and you suspect said screaming is due to the fact that she is cognizant that she looks ridonkulous in them...

Or for not following the Italian breastfeeding advice to keep your diet just as restricted as pregnancy. Fuuuuuck that scientifically unproven bullshit. Mama is eating sushi and rare steaks and gorgonzola and tiramisu whatever else was verboten for the past nine months. (Except alcohol - still on the "occasional sip or two" bandwagon. I am gonna be plastered the first time I have a full glass of wine...)

Fourth Trimester Quickies

Am over this busted tailbone crapola already; can I please have my ass back?

Girding one's loins to check out the stitches with a hand mirror took about two weeks. Even then I only managed a 5 second peeping-between-my-fingers look. What can I say, I'm squeamish like that.

Peanut's Halloween costume was Boob Tape; because she's constantly stuck to mine.

Speaking of, she categorically refuses a pacifier. If it ain't 100% authentic boob, she will have no truck with any other soothing device. Hence the new entry on my CV as Human Pacifier.

Me: "She had her third Poo Explosion which required a bath today."
Middle Sis: "And eventually you'll stop counting them."
(Already have for the record)

For the longest time Peanut refused to let rip with her epic farts in front of Mon Amour. It was like she was all "I'm a delicate princess, Daddy" The expression on his face when she finally let rip with a series of 3 was priceless.

In the car
Mom: "She likes when he goes fast or over the bumpy cobblestones."
Me: "Funny, fast and bumpy rides is how I got pregnant with her in the first place."

My boobs are bigger than my baby's head. This is a source of never ending marvel for Mon Amour.

The hormone surges are obnoxious; I can't watch anything where someone's dog/kid/parent gets ill or dies because I turn into a blubbering mess.

Hippie hubris is thinking you can use the nifty new cloth diapers now that your baby is over 8 lbs and having to run out 15 minutes before the store closes to get more infant disposables.

Did I mention I want my ass back?