SPECIAL BRIEFINGHere I Am
Jul. 12 - The ups and downs of the past 12 days have been extraordinary. Fortunately there've been more ups than downs. In fact, it's been pretty much nothing but ups since the moment our little Molli Malou was yanked into the world. You may remember the photo taken a few moments later, posted just a few hours afterward:
A few days later I threw a sort of collage up on Moron Abroad just to let everyone know things were going all right. It did not include, but could have included, this image:
I've been absolutely remiss since then, posting exactly nothing, responding only to the most urgent emails, and so on. I didn't mind being remiss because, having assured everyone things were just fine, I knew no one would be fretting and everyone would understand.
Meanwhile, in the less-than-fortnight that's elapsed since those last reassuring pictures were posted, Molli has astounded us on an almost daily basis. She's still in the hospital, of course—they plan to keep her until her original due date of August 20—but she's doing incredibly well. She never needed oxygen, but she was off the "air assist" within a few days of birth. She was out of the incubator a day or two after that. Now she's off every monitor but the Apnea alarm, was able to feed off her mother twice yesterday, and is gaining about 50g per day (she's just under five pounds right now).
Here's a shot of her "home:"
And for a sense of proportion, here she is in her mother's hands:
And for a sense of her eyes...
Anyway, things are going as well as we could possibly hope. Molli gets bigger and stronger and cooler every day. The DMG—an acronym that will have to change, since even "goddess" doesn't seem to do her justice after what she's done for our child—the DMG has recovered to the point where she spent an hour or two last night cleaning the bathroom.
So things are going very, very well. Of course, we still have "Rare Book Syndrome," and will have it until we get our girl home. This is a syndrome of my own invention. It gets its name from the fact that our child is to us right now like a rare book at a library. You can go in and look at it whenever you like. At certain hours you can even touch it (under supervision), examine it, and spend some time alone with it. But you cannot bring it home. That's our Molli. And as well as things are going, they're still not quite right and they won't be until she's here in this apartment with her mom and dad.
And until then, alas, the blogs and bloggishes and almanacs will almost certainly be sporadic, peculiar, and editorially disjointed—even moreso than normal. Believe me, there are plenty of things I'd love to get into on these electric pages right now, but they're going to have to wait until I have time to do them properly moronic injustice.
Until then, please forgive my intermittence. It's for the best of all possible reasons—this one:
The Regular Stuff
Rembrandt van Rijn was born in Leiden, Holland, on this date in 1606. His father was a miller and his mother was a stay-at-home mom. He is best known for his mastery of chiaroscuro and impasto, but his calamari was nothing to sneeze at.
Frenchman Hippolyte Mège-Mouriez patented margarine on this date in 1869. He called it margarine because the French word for pearl was margarite and he apparently had difficulty distinguishing butter from pearls—a handicap that goes a long way toward explaining his many divorces.
Jesse Ventura turns 52 today. Linda Ronstadt turns 57.
© 2004, The Moron's Almanac