I have never been this happy. Or this underslept.
The parenting gig is still crazy but Z and I are settling nicely into it which is not to say that we actually know what we're doing but we're figuring it out as we go and everyone involved is pretty laid back.
Aside from its attachment to pelvic pain my body has really come through for me and deserves thousands of gold stars. The carnage of my ladyparts seems to be healing quite nicely, I am regaining my strength a little bit more everyday (I can go for short walks around the house now and can hold the baby while standing) and my bosoms are producing enough milk to sustain my little boy (who has gained a whopping 70g on his birth weight).
Although I look back fondly on the 27th of December 2007 as The Golden Time Of Yore, The Last Time I Slept For More Than Four Hours At A Stretch, Z and I are adjusting to the whole non-sleeping thing much better than I thought. (It's amazing how rested I feel after three hours of uninterrupted sleep!)
Also it turns out that pregnancy can boost your self-esteem! I have never felt slimmer in my life, because people there's nothing like months of carting around a watermelon in your abdomen to make your post-pregnancy stomach look like peanuts. I have a waist again! I no longer look like Pillsbury Doughboy with a great haircut!
Perhaps to compensate me for the anemia and the blood loss and the iron-tablets induced constipation my body has snapped back into shape amazingly fast. Aside from the fact that I'm carting around the baby equivalanet of a boob job thanks to my milk-enhanced bosoms, at six days postpartum I am back to my pre-pregnancy size and back in my pre-pregnancy trousers oh how I have missed them. Although it will doubtless take months for my stomach muscles to lose their current dough-like consistency and regain their former lack of tone I feel GOOOOOOD. In fact the Breastfeeding After Pregnancy will go down in memory as the Golden Time I Have Yearned For All My Life When I Have Never Eaten More Or Been Thinner.
If only I had more energy and didn't come with a bottomless opossum attached to my breast I would be singing and dancing down the street. And going to clubs.
Evidence that hormones are swinging wildly and freely in my household
1.
When on Day 4 of your baby's life, having spent a sleepless night crying as you breastfeed because the baby will NOT STOP FEEDING you find yourself profiting from your baby's nap to fold towels, then that there truly is a sign that you are losing your mind and that rationality has left to seek better times in Rio long ago. Because woman, your theory about how at the end of their life few think damn, I wish I had done more cleaning has never been more true.
2.
Things that have made me cry in the last 48 hours:
The fact that my baby was so beautiful.
The fact that he refused to sleep.
The fact that Z was such a good daddy.
The fact that my nipples were cracked and bleeding and the little piranha was refusing to let go.
The fact that I have never been this happy.
The fact that I have never been this tired.
The fact that I hated breastfeeding.
Because baby things are so cute.
Because babies look so cute dressed up in clean little baby things.
Because he was driving me to the brink of nervous breakdown and it wasn't his fault.
Because breastfeeding sucked and made me want to claw my own eyes out with frustration.
Being smiled at by my son.
The perfection of my baby's eyelashes.
The tinyness of his feet.
How desperate and angry I felt during one of the first nights when I couldn't get him to settle, that all he wanted was to feed feed feed and I had no milk left to give him and was practically blind from stress and exhaustion.
Bleeding again and needing to go back to the hospital to be assessed and feeling my heart breaking because all I wanted was to be at home with my husband and son.
The sight of my son all tucked up and asleep, clutching his blue elephant.
The fact that the towels weren't folded correctly.
Feeling so lucky and blessed and so loved.
Ways in which Z and I have screwed with our child so far:
Spent the second night of his life obsessively trying to wind him and tapping him on his little back because I was convinced that he had gas when in fact it turned out he was just hungry.
Suckered him into gnawing on a plastic dummy instead of my tender flesh.
Ways in which my attitudes to parenting have changed so far:
The first day both Z and I were nervous and over-cautious in holding the baby. Now we have reached a level of comfort and skill with it where we can more or less twirl him like a basketball as we pass him around.
Before he was born I was all like " no, let's not get a dummy because it can make his teeth grow crooked and his speech delayed yadda yadda" only to revise my opinion three nights in to "We'll get him braces if need be but fuck it let's get an arsenal of dummies".
Names I am calling my child:
Smurf. Little Frog. Bun Stinkyevic- Roncevic.
Also until he starts keeping more sociable hours he shall be known as The Breast Bandit.
Things that have made me laugh the hardest:
Three hours into labour moaning as a contraction hit and Z asking: "What is it?"
The explosive noise of the baby's farts.
The sight of the baby repeatedly smacking himself in the face with one of his wildly flailing uncontrollable hands.
Profitting from one of the baby's naps in order to set up the tiniest nail salon in the world and blunt the 20 fearsome claws the baby had been born with. Me clipping the nails of his left hand while Z filed the ones of the other hand with an emery board.
What we call the "Herr Flick" face where the baby will raise one eyebrow and/or the eyelid underneath it.
The sight of the cat curled up in a shoebox.
Aside from its attachment to pelvic pain my body has really come through for me and deserves thousands of gold stars. The carnage of my ladyparts seems to be healing quite nicely, I am regaining my strength a little bit more everyday (I can go for short walks around the house now and can hold the baby while standing) and my bosoms are producing enough milk to sustain my little boy (who has gained a whopping 70g on his birth weight).
Although I look back fondly on the 27th of December 2007 as The Golden Time Of Yore, The Last Time I Slept For More Than Four Hours At A Stretch, Z and I are adjusting to the whole non-sleeping thing much better than I thought. (It's amazing how rested I feel after three hours of uninterrupted sleep!)
Also it turns out that pregnancy can boost your self-esteem! I have never felt slimmer in my life, because people there's nothing like months of carting around a watermelon in your abdomen to make your post-pregnancy stomach look like peanuts. I have a waist again! I no longer look like Pillsbury Doughboy with a great haircut!
Perhaps to compensate me for the anemia and the blood loss and the iron-tablets induced constipation my body has snapped back into shape amazingly fast. Aside from the fact that I'm carting around the baby equivalanet of a boob job thanks to my milk-enhanced bosoms, at six days postpartum I am back to my pre-pregnancy size and back in my pre-pregnancy trousers oh how I have missed them. Although it will doubtless take months for my stomach muscles to lose their current dough-like consistency and regain their former lack of tone I feel GOOOOOOD. In fact the Breastfeeding After Pregnancy will go down in memory as the Golden Time I Have Yearned For All My Life When I Have Never Eaten More Or Been Thinner.
If only I had more energy and didn't come with a bottomless opossum attached to my breast I would be singing and dancing down the street. And going to clubs.
Evidence that hormones are swinging wildly and freely in my household
1.
When on Day 4 of your baby's life, having spent a sleepless night crying as you breastfeed because the baby will NOT STOP FEEDING you find yourself profiting from your baby's nap to fold towels, then that there truly is a sign that you are losing your mind and that rationality has left to seek better times in Rio long ago. Because woman, your theory about how at the end of their life few think damn, I wish I had done more cleaning has never been more true.
2.
Things that have made me cry in the last 48 hours:
The fact that my baby was so beautiful.
The fact that he refused to sleep.
The fact that Z was such a good daddy.
The fact that my nipples were cracked and bleeding and the little piranha was refusing to let go.
The fact that I have never been this happy.
The fact that I have never been this tired.
The fact that I hated breastfeeding.
Because baby things are so cute.
Because babies look so cute dressed up in clean little baby things.
Because he was driving me to the brink of nervous breakdown and it wasn't his fault.
Because breastfeeding sucked and made me want to claw my own eyes out with frustration.
Being smiled at by my son.
The perfection of my baby's eyelashes.
The tinyness of his feet.
How desperate and angry I felt during one of the first nights when I couldn't get him to settle, that all he wanted was to feed feed feed and I had no milk left to give him and was practically blind from stress and exhaustion.
Bleeding again and needing to go back to the hospital to be assessed and feeling my heart breaking because all I wanted was to be at home with my husband and son.
The sight of my son all tucked up and asleep, clutching his blue elephant.
The fact that the towels weren't folded correctly.
Feeling so lucky and blessed and so loved.
Ways in which Z and I have screwed with our child so far:
Spent the second night of his life obsessively trying to wind him and tapping him on his little back because I was convinced that he had gas when in fact it turned out he was just hungry.
Suckered him into gnawing on a plastic dummy instead of my tender flesh.
Ways in which my attitudes to parenting have changed so far:
The first day both Z and I were nervous and over-cautious in holding the baby. Now we have reached a level of comfort and skill with it where we can more or less twirl him like a basketball as we pass him around.
Before he was born I was all like " no, let's not get a dummy because it can make his teeth grow crooked and his speech delayed yadda yadda" only to revise my opinion three nights in to "We'll get him braces if need be but fuck it let's get an arsenal of dummies".
Names I am calling my child:
Smurf. Little Frog. Bun Stinkyevic- Roncevic.
Also until he starts keeping more sociable hours he shall be known as The Breast Bandit.
Things that have made me laugh the hardest:
Three hours into labour moaning as a contraction hit and Z asking: "What is it?"
The explosive noise of the baby's farts.
The sight of the baby repeatedly smacking himself in the face with one of his wildly flailing uncontrollable hands.
Profitting from one of the baby's naps in order to set up the tiniest nail salon in the world and blunt the 20 fearsome claws the baby had been born with. Me clipping the nails of his left hand while Z filed the ones of the other hand with an emery board.
What we call the "Herr Flick" face where the baby will raise one eyebrow and/or the eyelid underneath it.
The sight of the cat curled up in a shoebox.