Here's the part of your first month that won't be written down in your baby book. The part that comes from lots of sleepless nights and post-partum hormones. The thoughts that only come after hours and hours of feedings with mere minutes in between. Here it is, baby girl. The untold stories of our first month.
- "she's never going to stop eating. Seriously, hunny, she won't stop. I feel like a pacifier."
- "I'm pretty sure she thinks of me as a food truck. She sees me, wants to eat. Hears my voice, starts eating her hands. Hold her against my chest, she tastes me with her little lizard tongue. I'm definitely no more than food to her."
- "Omg! If this child poops/pees on me one more time today I'm gonna scream! Or cry. Maybe both. This is disgusting, I think she's broken." (Thoughts on your bad habit of spraying poo on us and peeing all over yourself practically every time we change your diaper.)
- "So I really hate breastfeeding. I'm glad she's good at it and all, but there is nothing magical and sweet about it. I'm constantly wet, sticky, and smell like milk. I don't see what's so great about that."
- "If nothing else, we make beautiful babies, sweetheart. Sure, they turn into that (points to crazy, emotional, exhausted toddler flailing on the floor because she refused to nap), but they start out awfully sweet. That's how they suck you in..."
- "So I've started calling her Squishy. I think that's my little pet name for her because she's always so squished up and her chubby little cheeks are just sooo squishy."
Michael - "that's a horrible nickname for a baby."
"Annalyn, what do you think we should call baby sister?"
Annalyn - "diaper bag!"
At least she started out being sweet, right?
- Annalyn - "I want to play with Mommy's horns!"
"Those aren't horns, sweetheart. That's for Mommy's pump to make milk for baby Emma."
Annalyn - "because Emma just drinks Mommy's milk. She can't eat goldfish..." (Speaking from experience, Peanut? We may never know...)
- Annalyn - (knocking on my bedroom door) "Wake up, Mom!! Dad needs help!" (I walk downstairs and see Michael changing the baby.)
"Did you send her up here for help?"
Michael - "No, I didn't actually. She just got scared when the baby started shooting poop everywhere."
- I'm officially past the "feels so good to not be pregnant I don't care what I look like" stage. I want my clothes to fit. I want to wear mascara. And by golly, one of these days I'd even like to do my hair!
- I was never afraid of storms and tornadoes until I had kids. The thought of sheltering a newborn in our closet under the stairs while my husband and toddler are in the cooler at the grocery store (also in the path of the storms) was horrifying. As was the inside of said closet. Thank goodness, it ended up being nothing more than a stressful afternoon.
- This was shortly after you turned a month old, Emma, but we decided to surprise my family with a trip to IL since Papa Mark was on call and couldn't come visit us. It was actually going really well despite the fact that you apparently hate your car seat (should make for a fun trip to Nebraska in a few weeks...) until the power went out. Just as we were changing you and you peed all over. So as Annalyn was bouncing between "omg this is so great, I love flashlights" and "I want to go to Anna's house," I was bathing you in the sink by candlelight. Trust me, not as relaxing as a candlelit bath should be! Now it's 3:30 am and we are hot, sticky, and eating in the dark. The best laid plans, baby...
Well, there you have it. The parts of your first month I will probably forget before telling you if I hadn't written them down. And that's ok, forgetting is why I was brave enough to have you and your future younger sibling(s) I hope to have. Ironically, even as I write this, the whole house just lit up as the power came back on. And already, it doesn't seem so bad. Lets call it retrograde optimism. Looking back on something with more optimism and fondness than you could muster at the time.
So here's to your first month and all the wonderful awful moments that we spent up all night, tired all day, frustrated beyond belief, at the end of our ropes, yet hanging on tight and so in love and in awe of this beautiful baby girl sleeping on my chest. Love you like crazy (even if it makes me crazy), little Squishy.
Love,
Mama
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