Houdini, The Great Diaper Escapade and Red Bean Paste

Three totally unrelated items, but I can't help but share them.

Houdini
I'm afraid. Very afraid. Baby G seems to be able to do remarkable things with her remarkably uncoordinated body. This morning, I put her down for tummy time on a blanket on the floor. I was two feet away, turned around, turned back and voila! Baby G was on the other side of the blanket. I asked her how on earth, at 16 days old, she'd pulled that trick off. She just stared at me and made funny baby noises. She's been able to roll from back to side since she was four days old, meaning she slept on her back for all of four nights. If her arm is not in the way, she can also roll from her tummy to her back. She started this round of tricks on Day Six. Apparently, she is now able to roll from tummy to side to back, which scares the living daylights out of me. Newborns aren't supposed to be mobile!

Houdini has also foiled every single one of my swaddles. Try as I might - regardless the blanket, how straight her arms are, my technique or how tightly I bundle the little burrito, she always manages to wiggle one hand out. Clearly I'm failing at the swaddling, because that isn't supposed to happen. Right now she's lying next to my leg, swaddled. I looked over and voila! Her little left hand pops out and is wreaking havoc on her psyche as she plays "get the hand to my mouth for long enough to suck on," which is a futile game, since she's not actually coordinated in her Houdini tricks, just lucky.

The Great Diaper Escapade
While Baby G is now 2.5 ounces heavier than birth weight, she's also grown 1.5 inches, meaning she still looks like a little old man with a saggy behind, cute, scrawny legs and virtually no fat to speak of. It also means that the leg openings in even her preemie diapers are gaping holes, just waiting for liquid poop to shoot out. It's almost like carrying around a secret weapon. Baby G seems to store up her excrement and let loose one whopping gusher once a day. Last week, she did so as I was picking her up - we spent half an hour scrubbing her, my uncle's brand-new carpet, me and my cousin's 9-year-old, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and shell-shocked by the whole experience.

Today, while eating, Baby G let rip her daily expulsion. I was pulling clothes off of her in an attempt to minimize the amount of laundry she was creating as I took her into the nursery. The onesie was a lost cause. There wasn't a square inch of diaper inside that wasn't covered. The changing pad ended up covered. I was covered. Baby G's entire lower half was covered, even before I opened the diaper. She screamed at the top of her lungs as I spent 10 minutes cleaning her off, vowing she was definitely getting a bath tonight. I reached for a new diaper, just as things began to feel warm and wet in her nether regions. Apparently, she wasn't finished.

I cleaned her up again and wrapped her naked (except for a clean diaper) little self up in a blanket, as I wasn't about to attempt a third outfit today. I had no sooner settled her back down to eat when *squirt* I hear the dreaded noise again. Amazing! We had a repeat show in under five minutes. Same pattern. New diaper. New vow to bathe this little wonder tonight. New blanket. Same naked body wrapped up. I'm not taking chances.

Red Bean Paste
Turns out, Red Bean Paste is actually made from beans. I knew this, I promise, but that was before nine months of pregnancy and the arrival of Baby G, who apparently sucked out the rest of my common sense brain cells on her way into the world.

Baby G loathes beans. I should have been smart enough to put two and two together after a Cafe Rio experience left her fussy. Instead, it took me eating a big helping of my dad's secret baked beans (the only ones I'll even touch) and Chipotle to realize it was the beans that were the common factor in extraordinarily long nights and noisy little tummies.

Yesterday evening was one of those times. Baby G's tummy sounded like it was inhabited by a hungry monster. It roared and burped and roiled. Baby G wimpered, screamed and hiccuped, burped and passed gas until I was smart enough to remember the gas drops in the cabinet.

I sat back, trying to figure out what dreaded food I'd consumed this time - golden grahams, water, lemonade, homemade chicken noodle soup from my mom, red bean paste pastry ...

Red WHAT pastry? I had stopped at the Asian market yesterday for some items and discovered that they sold one of my favorite treats - red bean paste pastry (they taste better than they sound, I promise!). Without thinking, I purchased one and gobbled it down on the way home.

I then asked Himself what, quite possibly, is the world's stupdidest question:
"Does red bean paste actually come from beans?" (Remember - this is my post partum brain talking, I promise I already knew this - it was a momentary lapse in sanity).

Himself roared with laughter and said, "Not only that, but it is made from FERMENTED beans."

Oh. Dear. That does explain a lot now, doesn't it?