First off, happy two week birthday to my little gal, Miss Nora Jane! (Two weeks? You mean, after all of this crazy pregnancy business and madcap preparation…two weeks can go by like THAT? I turned to Peej at the 4am feeding and sorrowfully told him that she’s getting too big. He pointed at her and said “She is SO teense,” with a ‘Don’t start that already’ look on his face. This from the guy who wants twelve more.)
Also, Happy Belly-Button-Falling-Off-Day! To Nora, specifically. Unless it applies to others I know. In that case…Happy BBFOD to us all! (And, from across the room, I can see that she’s trying to crawl up Nat-Nat’s shoulder. Between that, rolling over three times and insane neck control, I’m fairly certain I’ve given birth to a three-month old.)
And- addendum. My kiddo’s birth weight was 6lbs, 15oz. The doctors had suggested (strongly) that he or she was going to be a whopper of a kid with a ginormous head. They miscalculated, due to her extremely balled-up breech position (and the physical inability to get to other parts of my innards- Nora, not the doctors. I’m sure they could have if they had really wanted to.) So, they guesstimated based on how big she’d be IF she could have expanded to all four quadrants of my midsection- and not the upper 1/4 that she inhabited for three months.
THAT SAID, 6lbs and 15oz is NOT tiny based on the space she occupied. Imagine if I tried to balance a weight like that on your pinky finger. After a while, it would start to HURT. And on THAT note, why do people round down? After announcing her birth stats, more people than I care to count exclaimed- “Six pounds? Small!” Yep, six pounds IS small. However. She was one ounce shy of seven pounds. Which is painfully average. (That’s my daughter- painfully average!)
And we get to weigh her again today at the doctor’s office! I may supplement a protein drink or two to get some sweet poundage.
The craziest part of this whole thing is- I was not nutso about being pregnant. At. All. But now that she’s here? I have no desire to put her down, ever, or to do non-Nora-centric activities. I leave the room for a few moments and have that bizarre WHAT AM I FORGETTING feeling, followed immediately by OH MY GOD, WHERE’S THE BABY? (Side note- she is with grandparents and friends whenever this happens. I am not a negligent mother. Yet. That I am aware of.) And I realize that this is wholly biological. (I’m learning a lot about biology these days: the kiddo looks like the father so he won’t be tempted to eat her, and the mother cannot put the kiddo down and thusly abandon it. You win this time, Science.) Even with these facts, I cannot even begin to muster the ability to care. For I DO want to hold her nonstop. When I feed her in the middle of the night and see her ridiculously wide-awake eyes, I smile. (P.J. does not have the same biological reactions for the 4am feedings. He pats her on the head, hands her to me and mumbles something like “Daddy loves you.” Or “dabble my shoes.” At least he’s not tempted to eat her. Yet.)
And this bliss-fest is only compounded by the glorious help we’ve had for the past two weeks. My parents being here was nothin’ but fun. My mother’s extended visit was the nicest one-on-one time we’ve shared since before the twin sibs showed up in March of ’87 and ruined everything. (Ohmigod, Rachel and Emily, I AM KIDDING. But…we used to have tea parties and pretend to shop with fancy catalogs and watch Anne of Green Gables. Back me up on this, Kate. But…I joke. You guys Completed our Family. That’s what we were told, anyhow.)
Regardless, the mom visit was fabulous. And this week Peej’s folks are up! Totally great. (I’m sorta unsure as to how I’ll “shower” and “get dressed” and “get things done” when people aren’t here to hold the bebe in the mornings.) It’s funny though, no matter how awesome people’s parents are, unless they’re your own it feels like Company. Not in a bad way…just in a “can I make you something to eat” kinda way. And then they remind you that THEY’RE here to make YOU some food. And they do. And then you offer to clean and perhaps make some tea. And then they take your baby and send you to your room for a nap.
And my big sis Kate is coming on Wednesday! She’s not Company. She makes Bacos sandwiches (or did once, in 1989) and knows all the one-liners from Disney Sunday movies.
I am so excited.
Okay, off to steal my kid back from the grandparents, bathe an unwilling child and start the long process of heading out to the doctor’s office.
Where she will undoubtedly freak out about the nudie weigh-in. (Did I mention that she ABHORS being naked?)
Must be one of those “skip a generation” genes.
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