Three Months

Three Months

He laughs a lot now. Coos and gurgles. We think he may be showing early signs of teething as he is a drool factory right now. He holds his head up like a champ & LOVES looking around. He cannot be contained. Loves to stand (with our help) and move around as much as possible. Much like his mom, he can't sit still for very long. He also prefers books to toys (I'm not joking). He gives us about a four-hour stretch at night. Then goes back to sleep for 3, then 2 hours, totaling about 3 feeds during the time. He's napping better, too. He had a wicked bout of colic that's been present since about 4 weeks, and we think he's *just* about getting over it. He went to sleep without so much as a wimper last night for the first time - ever. Nursing is a dream. If you had asked me a month ago if I'd ever enjoy doing it I would have first had to return from my thousand-yard stare just to answer you.

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Raising a child forces you to be present in your life. No question. Sure we consider the future: What kind of person will he be? Will he be admired? Will he know how to admire others? It's true that every headline, every newscast, every bad rumor ejects us momentarily from our blissful pod into a mire of worry. But these moments take a back seat to the "now" of feeding, diaper changing and nurturing. I am conscious - always - of the din disturbing not only his precious sleep (and ours) but the fragile framework of his developing mind. "Turn the TV down,” I hear myself saying time and again. “Shhh, not so loud,” I repeat throughout my day. But the need for lower volumes has more to do with suddenly leading a quieter life - for regrets of the past and worries about the future are truly deafening. At last I am living mine without so much noise.

Seven Weeks

7 Weeks
He experienced his 6-week growth spurt last week and his voracious appetite had me tethered to the glider for days. He has wonderfully lucid periods in the early morning when I first get him up (correction: when HE first gets ME up). Lots of smiles and coos. I cook with him in the evening. I discovered that by propping him up on the counter in his chair I can share with him all the herbs I chop, the garlic, even the fish & meats. ("This is tarragon. TAR-RA-GON. It's green. And it smells like licorice. LIC-OR-ICE - which is black.") They say an infant's sense of smell is the strongest of the senses. That the rest do not develop fully until much later. I aim to take advantage of this. Our kid's going to have one hell of a palate when I get through with him.

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Nursing is starting to go a little better. The pain is subsiding. But only in time for me to develop hyperlactation, or over-active letdown. The growth spurt that had him feeding every 45 min to an hour resulted in my body answering the call like a herd of dairy cows rushing to the drainers. Zach's back to his usual routine. The udders, however, are still catching up. Last night he cried, spit & sputtered to the point of hysteria. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!," I cried to S as I ran around the house with my nursing pillow attached to my waist. Thank Bob for S. He took Zach from me to get us to both calm down. I scaled back to low-flow, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Truth is, I hate nursing. Not a bit of this experience so far has been pleasant, and I've been wondering why I do it. Last night, S asked the same thing. Why not just become a pumping mom? He can still get the boob juice without the pain (SEVERE pain) & suffering of direct hook-up.I don't know. Maybe I'm stubborn, committed to the idea that we can have this idyllic mother-child nursing relationship that I've read all about in the bible. (Isn't that where I read it? Or was it on an episode of Love Boat? I don't know, I'm too sleep deprived to remember.) On a separate note, when people tell us how cute/perfect/beautiful he is it seems odd to say: "Thank you." We didn't have much of a hand in how he looks, and frankly, my heathen sensibilities aren't inclined to attribute that to a higher power, either. So sue me for being proud of something so superficial.

Six Weeks

6 Weeks

He is smiling with regularity now, & I am finally convinced he means it. He likes hearing Daddy speak in funny voices, & he finds it amusing when I pretend to gobble up his little hand. His fussy hour(s) begins around 9 p.m. & can last up to about 11 p.m. We inch ever closer to getting the hang of what it takes to soothe him, & when we do, it's an extraordinary feeling of empowerment. And if there was any question that this was our child, his constant need to eat should dispel that doubt.

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I didn't feel it immediately - that "instant" bond other mothers talk so passionately about. I loved him instantly, but he was still a stranger, like having a really picky guest in your home who you want desperately to please. The new-parent anxiety didn't help speed the bonding process along, exactly. I was too busy avoiding doing something reckless like, ohhh say, letting him pee on his face or suffocating him with his onesie. But now, when I utter the words "My son," the concept seems less foreign. I'm beginning to differentiate his cries, & now that he's smiling we have something to go on besides: upset/not upset. (As S puts it.) I recognize that he's a lot like me - he always has to be doing something & is not terribly content with just sitting in a chair. A coincidence that is simultaneously amusing and exhausting.And despite all the sleep deprivation, I am taking to heart the words of others: "Treasure these days. They go by quickly."