Hey guys! I am feeling much, much better today and can actually sit in one position long enough to post. Though it has taken me most of the afternoon to recover from church alone. Damn Catholic services with their standing and sitting and standing and sitting and standing and kneeling and... you get the drift, right? They totally didn't make these rituals with surgery patients in mind.
Wanna know the cutest thing Kyra said at church today? According to her, when taking the Eucharist we are eating Jesus' bottom. Yep, his ass. Only a 3 year old can get away with thinking something like that. Though it did make me think twice when opening my mouth to accept the rump of the Holy Dude.
As far as Lydia is concerned, she's doing swell. She eats like a little bird and now Jeremy is obsessing over it. Kyra came home from the hospital eating 3-4 ounces on a regular basis. Lydia is doing swell just to finish an ounce and a half. We jump for joy when an entire 2 ounces is consumed. Jeremy thinks she's withering away and is going to starve to death in the matter of hours. He's a good daddy, no questioning his love for our girls.
In other Lydia news, she has no butt. Like, her back flows strait on down to meet her teeny tiny chicken thighs. When we were in the hospital, they only provided size 1 diapers. Every time we lifted Lydia up unswaddled her diaper would fall off. When we came home, we had a full stock of new born size diapers. They, too, tended to fall off. Though, not to her ankles like the 1's, but her butt was certainly hanging out for the world to see. Today I finally talked Jer into getting a small pack of preemie diapers. Guess what.... they fit! Supposedly they're for up to 6lb babies.... I guess Lydia's lack of an ass measures up to a preemie's behind.
Finally, I downloaded these videos because I thought they were super cute and why not show you how hilarious and funny my child can be.
This was Kyra the day before my surgery:
We were prepping her to stay at her BFF's house for the day without Mommy and Daddy. Somehow this led to her writing them imaginary letters.
This is what happens when your 3 year old thinks an hours old newborn can choose or be coerced when to wake up and hold a conversation:
Okay, well, I'm going back to lay down again. This whole recovering from having your gut cut open is some serious business. Can't be taken lightly. And besides that, if Jer catches me in here typing away he might just decide I've recovered enough I can start planning and making the meals, and, well, it's just been nice to be served breakfast, lunch and supper in bed. Who would want to willingly give that up? I've got a good husband on my hands, even if, on occation, he likes to shove his head up his own ass, overall, I wouldn't trade him in for any other.