Being an infant’s mother seems to mean learning to do everything with one hand while holding the baby with the other.
Sometimes when I give the baby his pacifier—which he loves; he’s very sucky—he can’t quite figure out how to operate his tongue and this look comes over him like he thinks I’m trying to murder him with his favorite possession.
When Tommy is really hungry, he attacks my breast like a starving wildebeest. It’s hilarious, but it’s also frightening because, you know, I’d rather like my nipples to remain intact.
Since I’m nursing, I spend a lot of time looking at the side of the baby’s head. He has lovely ears, one lobe is attached and one is unattached as a tribute to each of his parents.
He gets the hiccups pretty much every day, sometimes several times in a day. I feel sorry for the little guy because he’s really puzzled by these little explosions coming from within his own body.
After the trauma of bath time Tommy acts like he needs to lie down in a darkened room for several hours in order to recover.
Whenever Tommy is crying, Stella’s protective instincts kick in and she begins whimpering and whining, which further exacerbates the crying, leading to whichever parent is dealing with the situation to lose their freaking mind.
We received as a gift this cute little calendar that has stickers that you place on particular dates to record the baby’s milestones (first smile, first time to roll over, etc.). Oddly, it doesn’t have a sticker for the first poopy diaper blow-out. That would have gone on yesterday’s date.
Learning to breastfeed seems to mean that everything I own will now be covered in breast milk.
I wish at least once a day that Robin had the ability to breastfeed. I don’t care how creepy that is.
Five years ago, I would never have guessed that this would be my life right now. But I’m really happy that it is.