Post-pregnancy Weight Loss Secret: Raging Stomach Flu

I know -- it's been ten days since the last post. In that time, I've run a fever that spiked at 104 degrees and I'm still unable to keep solid food where it should go. In a word, it sucks.

Billy is easy compared to that.

Though he looks like Ace, he acts like me--must be fed every two hours and gets frustrated sometimes for no reason. His favorite sleeping spot is his Dad's chest--which his dad kind likes, too.

Here are a few of the latest:

Breastfeeding, Burping, and Bottom Wiping--Not Blogging

So my promised update is a little late--but I have an exceedingly good excuse.

What you're heard is true--newborn babes are a lot of work. But it doesn't seem that way until you realize you haven't checked your email in days and days--and not for lack of trying. The days just kind of float together right now.

But as far as Billy goes, even his poop is gorgeous and adorable.

Billy had his follow-up appointment at the hospital today, which is a major outing for us since our hospital is in Tupelo, an hour away. We totally missed the scheduled appointment and had to call for a later time. Billy peed on the nurse giving him the once-over, but his weight gain is on-target and his muscle tone and agility are off the charts (of course!).

Afterward, we stopped by the Elvis Presley birthplace for a quick picnic and visit--the house is literally the size of your kitchen, for those of you who haven't been there. Billy slept through most of it, but his daddy was proud.

Enough of the gab--you want to see what this baby looks like!
His nose, lips, chin--basically, his whole face--are Ace.



But his feet and pooping ability are totally me.



So after Billy peed on the nurse and all over his going out day outfit, I had to resort to my spare--a blue polo shirt onesie, inadvertently making father and son twins for the day. Should be cheesy, I just thought it was fun.

BILLY

NEWSFLASH

Well, it looks like Billy -- Little E - Atkins waited until the height of Elvis Week here in Tupelo to make his first appearance. Mom went into labor early Wednesday -- about 4 a.m. -- and several painful hours later, gave birth at 11:17 a.m.

Both mom and baby are very healthy. Billy weighed 8.5 pounds and measured in at 21.5 inches. He promises to have a mean left hook.

He's very active crying and eating and resting up a bit between.

Yesterday afternoon was spent with family and parents who drove in for the birth. Angela is still resting up but feeling good enough for a Backyard Burger and fries only 30 minutes after delivery.

We're looking to coming back to the farm on Friday afternoon. More rest for Angela. More diapers for Billy.

But like a good reporter, Angela wanted me to get out the newsflash to let everyone know Billy has arrived happy and healthy.

Picture to follow.

Elvis comparisons are welcome.

-- Ace

Billy has hair, but no urge to be born

Because I am past my due date, we had another ultrasound today to make sure everything was going well. Everything is going perfectly--he scored a perfect 10 on the healthy meter. But this ultrasound was weird, because I really couldn't see a thing.

At 20 weeks, he was small enough to watch on one screen, moving around, kicking his legs and arms out. Now, space is tight and he doesn't fit on the screen. The technician spent most of her time on his heart, lungs, stomach, etc., checking to make sure all is well. That basically looked like black and white moving blobs to me.

But then she took the wand down to his head, and we got an oh-so-brief view of chubby cheeks, bow lips, and upturned nose. Crazy. Also, according to her, she saw a full head of hair. I couldn't tell. Apparently, Ace had hair. I was bald as a cue ball.

Anyway, everything is fine--I'm healthy, he's healthy, all is well--except he has no urge to leave my uterus. Perhaps because it's actually cooler in there than it is outside this week.

Just about everyone has lost the bet on guessing Billy's birthday. Will lost more than $100 to his grandmother today for betting on lucky 13. Ace has now pegged Aug. 16--Elvis's death day--as Billy's big day. Time will tell.

Check out Outside Magazine

Okay, unrelated to Billy, please pick up a copy of September's Outside Magazine (not August--this cover has a picture of Emile Hirsch and a cover story about the movie Into the Wild). On page 32, there 's a story by our very own Ace titled "Shut Up About My Truck." I bet Daddy likes that headline.

Basically, Ace makes the point that some of us have to drive trucks because of our rural lifestyle, and that we make up for the environmental impact of truck driving in other ways--namely, Ace and I have a freezer full of food we grew in our backyard instead of getting it shipped from Chile or wherever. By the time he's 2, I know a certain young man who will be sick to death of squash.

There wasn't enough space for everything, but when Ace wrote the piece, it got me thinking about the way we live pretty simply here. We don't have a lot of high-tech toys (our TV was born around the time my little sister Julia was), most of our furniture is either antique or stuff we have repurposed (the best of which is the solid wood table Ace rescued from a campus trash heap that is now gorgeous and seats eight), we use a clothesline when the weather's right, we cook most of our meals instead of going out (Ace is a great cook!) and we don't buy a lot of crap--mostly because we hate crap, but you see my point.

I'm not sure if that makes up for not driving a Prius, but it's a start. How about this--we promise to get a BioDiesel truck one day. In the meantime, buy the September issue and check it out.

Heat Index:105. Feet: Approaching Sasquatch Size

When Billy is 13 and hates me because I won't let him get a motorcycle or something, will you all please remind him of this headline from The Weather Channel today:
"Dangerous heat over much of the U.S."
It's now 6 p.m. and 99 degrees in Oxford. 99. As the sun is going down.

Usually, I like heat. Summer's great, air conditioning makes me too cold--I'm that girl who brings a sweater to the movies. With 50 pounds of baby, however, I just can't take it. I'm miserable.

Because of the extreme heat, my extremities have swollen up but good. My size 10s were never delicate, but at least they were long and thin. Now, they're just hideous--and nothing fits them. Friday evening, my hands started swelling, with can be a warning sign for pre-eclampsia. A trip to the doctor today revealed it's nothing but the heat+fluid retention+a little bit of carpal tunnel.

No more whining. Y'all just send good thoughts my way and hopefully the little guy will decide to join us soon.

But when he's 13, please remind him of what he put his mama through.