Thursday, June 6, 2013

13 weeks 2 days - The sleepy dance

Nurse, poop cleanup, bath time, nurse, swaddle, swing to Bluegrass music on the Pandora - this is our routine tonight.  The poop and bath are options, appearing every other night or so, but the rest is becoming somewhat normal for us.  We're figuring it out.  She's usually asleep by midnight, but because I just wrote that, she'll be up until 1 tonight.  She's usually good to sleep for a solid 7 hours, but because I just wrote that, she'll be up every 2 hours tonight.  (Please let me be wrong about that.)  Once she's asleep in the swing, we'll move her to her bed, turn on the monitor, tiptoe out the door, and breathe a sigh of...something.  The feel of the house changes when she's down for the night.  It's not relief, though it sort of is.  I miss her when she's asleep, but when that door latch softly clicks into place as I leave her room, I feel like I used to when I worked the late shift at the liquor store and I'd finally turn off that neon "OPEN" sign. Like I'm able to take off the Responsible Mom hat I wear, if only for the few minutes between her bedtime and my own. 

I've got new stretch marks on my breasts, and this realization hit me kind of hard, mostly because I know it's my fault for not wearing a good supportive bra at night...or on those days I'd rather just wear a nursing tank.  I hate every piece of clothing I own.  Every. Single. One.  I feel frumpy and unattractive and tired and like a hot mess.  I need to take better care of myself - shave my legs, take the time to lotion my skin, blow-dry my hair - but who has the time?  I could make the time, I guess, but then it seems like so much work...

Jimi is an awesome babydaddy.  He packs her diaper bag every morning, while I'm nursing her.  He washes bottles, he folds baby laundry, he stuffs pocket diapers, he makes the solution for the flannel wipes.  He sings to her and plays songs for her on the ukulele and gets her dressed for bed after bath time.  He sprays out every single poopy diaper...that right there should earn him blowjobs for life.  Don't tell him I said that.  He brings me water and snacks and the Kindle and has only snapped at me once for bossing him around.  He's been amazing, and I couldn't have made a better choice for a life partner and co-parent. 

I can't believe how lucky I am that this is my reality. 
Life is so fucking beautiful. 

She's asleep - time for the swing to crib transfer.  Wish me luck. 

Sunday, June 2, 2013

12 weeks 6 days - My life is upside down.

There are pacifiers on my nightstand, on the floor in the living room, in her bed, in her carseat, in the diaper bag.  The kid doesn't like pacifiers, yet they've multiplied and made themselves at home in every corner of my home.  There's a rattle under my dining room chair, a play mat - the sort with crisscrossed padded poles attached to each corner, so you can dangle toys above baby for them to swat at - hangs over the mirror, hooked on by a corner, in an effort just to get it up off the floor.  Not that it matters - a stroller takes up all the floor space underneath.

Baby socks hide between the couch cushions, receiving blankets litter every sitting space.  "Hippos Go Berserk" and "Heroes for My Daughter" are the books found on end tables.  Cloth diapers and flannel wipes are constantly being washed or folded or both at the same time.  Baby washcloths and baby shampoo hang out on the edge of my bathtub. 

She's a breastfed baby, but I have to work, so there are still bottles to wash every day, and pump parts to clean and reassemble.  And I only bathe her every other day, but somehow last week we found ourselves without a single clean baby towel in the house.  (She seemed to enjoy the grown-up towel better, though - not one tear after tub time was over.) 

I love it. 

I love every single little part of it.  Every bottle to wash, every toy to step over or pick up.  Every time I hang up those little cloth diapers, stringing them on the line to dry, I remember the way I felt the first time I washed and hung them, getting them ready for her arrival, as she moved and kicked inside me; I was so excited to use them on a real live baby of my very own.  And now I am!  She pees in them every day! 

I have hampers full of baby laundry - clothes actually worn by MY baby.  She spits up on them, or her diaper leaks, or she just needed to be changed into something cuter - lots of baby laundry around these parts.  I love it. 

And I have to wash bottles and pump parts every day, so the sinks are clean all the time - they have to be.  And we're spending so much time in there cleaning bottles and pump parts, we might as well keep the rest of the kitchen clean too.  And we take baths together all the time, so the bathtub is super clean.  And we have to wipe down the entire bathroom with Lysol after every poopy diaper (because the poop-water gets sprayed in the process of spraying the poop off the poopy diaper), so the bathroom is pretty clean every other day or so, too.  (She's not an every day pooper.) 

And we can't go out to a restaurant at the drop of a hat anymore, so we're eating at home more often, which means we're saving money and eating healthier.  And our relationship, which has almost always been so easy, is being strained and tested in ways we've never experienced before, and we're coming out on top of each challenge, stronger and better than ever. 

This little girl is the most amazing thing that's ever happened in my life.  She's changed everything.


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