My baby is 1 month. That sentence bring a knee-jerk reaction of the statement, "NO WAY!"
Here's what I think so far (this might not be interesting to anyone but me and Jeff):
We have ourselves some good days and some bad days. The good days are just so good. The bad usually stems from the fact that he's a wee bit colicky. Every evening he'll start screaming over his under developed digestive system and we find a way to work it out, almost always in the form of finding just that right way to hold him with just the right amount of pressure on his tummy. Throw in a binkie and some pacing (usually around the island counter in our kitchen), and he works through it. It is a bummer of major proportions that he has to struggle with his digestives but I sally forth with the hope that it all starts functioning more properly soon. I know by 3 months they usually have it sorted out. He also hates the car seat but to that I said SORRY because he needs to get over it and has already begun to. He also doesn't like to be put down. Ever. I've ruined him already. Oops.
Nights and nursing are MUCH BETTER now. Let's think of how to create the perfect storm. Hmm... Oh! I've got it! Let's take long hours of dark winter night, a crying baby who doesn't want to sleep unless he's being held and otherwise must eat 17 snacks an hour, a delirious mom with sore girls...ding ding ding! The only good thing about it was my awesome glider. Then I started going downstairs to watch Friday Night Lights so at least Tim Riggins would keep me company and I'd stop falling asleep. I thought it would just be like this until he was old enough to sleep train, but he's figured things out largely on his own. Now he goes down at 10 or 11, and wakes up at 2 and 5. As long as he goes back to sleep right after eating, which he usually does, I feel completely rested. When he doesn't, hmph. Que sera, sera. Also, I no longer have to count to 60 with gritted teeth when I'm feeding him. Can I get a what what?
I lost 30 lbs in 2 weeks, which would be way more awesome if it weren't for the fact that I gained almost 60. I'm currently sporting my fat jeans and the metal tangs of the zipper are hanging on for dear life (as our friend Jerry would say). I've started running a couple of miles every day and we almost always go on a morning walk, as it's the route to Jude taking a morning nap. All in all, the recovery has gone very well and I'm grateful.
His first word was "Sarkozy". I joke. He has 2 cries so far. The first is sort of like a cute holler (hollah) that isn't really sad or anything, it's like a protest and a warning, but his face is completely content so it's sort of adorable to me. The second is the one that demands attention and action.
When he's awake and alert, looking around the room, staring at me with a pleased expression like he's trying to smile, gurgling and squeaking, I find myself squealing with delight and practically clicking my heels. He is a major snuggler and we love to watch him sleep with his hands in cute little displays. So much fun.
I feel like I belong with him and in this job. The feeling of, "I'll take care of him, leave it to me!" was the first one I identified when they put him on my chest that night at Hoag. He is my little pledge that I adore through and through. Our home is so full of love right now it's disgusting. We are stoked on our Jude.
