For the past eleven weeks of my life, I have dreaded this one: the twelfth. At the end of this week I will be returning to work. The dread isn't because I hate my job or anything of that sort. On the contrary, I like what I do and am looking forward to getting back to it. But I do not want to leave my infant daughter for the bulk of every day's waking hours.
Oh, who am I kidding? The kid rarely goes to bed before 11:00, and that's on a good night. I'll probably have oodles of quality time with Fiona, even if it is time spent trying fruitlessly to get her tired-but-unwilling-to-go-to-sleep tiny baby butt to bed.
But I digress. My maternity leave has been amazing, and an enormous gift. I know a lot of women who have babies don't get to take nearly the same amount of time I have been able to take. I have been immensely fortunate to spend this much time with Fiona during her first few months of life. I don't know how some women go back after only six, five, or even just a couple of weeks after giving birth.
Of course, the anticipation of leaving her has already made a basketcase out of me. I have been known to start a lullaby to her only to have it choked off with sobs when I remember that our daylight, weekday hours together are numbered. Then there are the times when I just spontaneously combust with tears as I'm feeding her, knowing that I'll be cuddling a lot more with my breast pump than with her by next week.
There are two things keeping me sane at this point. The first is the knowledge that I have only a week and-a-half before the Thanksgiving break when I'll have four solid days to spend with Fiona and M. And after that is the anticipation for the holidays, plus a visit from my mother and grandmother at the end of the month. I'm hoping it all serves as a nice distraction.
The second thing keeping me sane is the biggie. Instead of having to go to daycare or a sitter, Fiona will be in the care of her grandmother, M's mother, and my amazing mother-in-law. Whatever time I am not spending mentally willing us to win the lottery so I don't have to ever work again, I am spending thanking my incredibly lucky stars that my child will be taken care of by someone who will love her almost as much as I do. And that is what will make it even remotely possible for me to keep it together one week from today, when I take that long drive to the office next Monday morning, and the even longer drive home that night to be with my baby again.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Five Years
Recently, M and I celebrated the fifth anniversary of our wedding. It was a small milestone, but one nonetheless. And it's one that scarcely seems possible. In some ways, I feel like we're still those two clowns who met at UMASS. We both had a crush on each other, and while nothing came of it until years later, we both somehow knew we'd get married someday. The relationship I have with my husband has surpassed everything I ever hoped for. We're fairly different people, and anyone who knows us can attest to the fact that we're not the picture of wedded bliss. We're constant bickerers, and act more like friends than spouses. We have fun together, not necessarily connubial harmony.
But that's good for us, and underneath our bickering, sniping, and weird little inside jokes is great love. M has long been the one person in my life that I don't think I could live without. He's my best friend and the person with whom I want to share all the details of my life. And the details - mundane or otherwise - of whose life I want to know.
While I was pregnant with Fiona, I spent a lot of time thinking about how important M is to me, and how I really didn't want that to change. It was my greatest fear, in fact. He's been my other half for so long I felt the need to jealously guard our relationship from the child we were awaiting.
I've always thought that our relationship should always be the top priority, even if we were ever to bring a kid into the mix, which, truth be told, we never expected to do. For the first five years of our couplehood we eschewed the very notion of kids. Our mantra, whenever we'd see a child throwing a tantrum or hearing a story about a kid being annoying, was, "NEVER." We also used to say, "Reason No. 483 not to have kids" on a regular basis. So when we changed our minds about having kids and I got pregnant, it was imperative to me that our relationship not change. After all, you pick the person you spend your life with; you can't choose your children.
But you can't expect to bring another person into the world without changing yourself, and thus the relationships you're in - all of them. M and I are still reeling from the little interloper in our lives. I think neither of us knew just how much we'd love her when she arrived. When you throw that much more love into the mix, things automatically start to shift.
What has changed the most is that we're now a family. There were two (plus animals). Now there are three (plus animals). I guess I'm less concerned about anything getting in the way of what M and I share, because we are and always have been very simply US. There's just one more of US. Having a baby changes everything, and it's wonderful, frightening, earth-shattering, and awe-inducing. There's no denying that our marriage and our relationship have and will continue to change. Now, instead of loving just M more every day, we both love each other and another person more every day. More love is good.
But that's good for us, and underneath our bickering, sniping, and weird little inside jokes is great love. M has long been the one person in my life that I don't think I could live without. He's my best friend and the person with whom I want to share all the details of my life. And the details - mundane or otherwise - of whose life I want to know.
While I was pregnant with Fiona, I spent a lot of time thinking about how important M is to me, and how I really didn't want that to change. It was my greatest fear, in fact. He's been my other half for so long I felt the need to jealously guard our relationship from the child we were awaiting.
I've always thought that our relationship should always be the top priority, even if we were ever to bring a kid into the mix, which, truth be told, we never expected to do. For the first five years of our couplehood we eschewed the very notion of kids. Our mantra, whenever we'd see a child throwing a tantrum or hearing a story about a kid being annoying, was, "NEVER." We also used to say, "Reason No. 483 not to have kids" on a regular basis. So when we changed our minds about having kids and I got pregnant, it was imperative to me that our relationship not change. After all, you pick the person you spend your life with; you can't choose your children.
But you can't expect to bring another person into the world without changing yourself, and thus the relationships you're in - all of them. M and I are still reeling from the little interloper in our lives. I think neither of us knew just how much we'd love her when she arrived. When you throw that much more love into the mix, things automatically start to shift.
What has changed the most is that we're now a family. There were two (plus animals). Now there are three (plus animals). I guess I'm less concerned about anything getting in the way of what M and I share, because we are and always have been very simply US. There's just one more of US. Having a baby changes everything, and it's wonderful, frightening, earth-shattering, and awe-inducing. There's no denying that our marriage and our relationship have and will continue to change. Now, instead of loving just M more every day, we both love each other and another person more every day. More love is good.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Month Two Stats
Fiona had her two-month appointment last week. She was amazingly good-natured through nearly the entire visit. This was likely because I smartened up from her one-month appointment and made sure the last thing I did before we left for the doctor's office was feed her so at least she wouldn't be screaming herself silly due to hunger.
As with the previous visit to the pediatrician, Fiona checks out to be very healthy. The doctor says she's right on track with everything and looks great. She was even impressed with Fiona's strength and figures she'll be early to roll over. Not two seconds after she said this Fiona rolled over on the exam table. Little show-off. I was so proud. Granted, she was probably helped out a bit by the incline at the head of the table. But still: for one, her timing couldn't have been better, and two, she really is that strong.
On to the rundown of her stats:
Weight: 13 pounds, 8.2 ounces. That's right. She gained nearly three pounds in the last month. She bumped herself into the 97th percentile for weight. This really came as no surprise to us since M and I both are having more back pain every day. Holding Fiona is fast becoming a weight-training regimen.
Length: 23.5 inches, a gain of an inch and-a-half since her one-month appointment, and reaching the 75th percentile for weight. Our little basketball player could very well outpace both her parents in stature. After all, her height at two months of age is an adequate indicator, right?
The appointment could not end without some trauma, of course. We also had to face the horror of her first round of vaccinations. This experience was nearly as bad for me as it was for Fiona - maybe worse. For her it was momentary pain from three shots. For me, it was having my heart ripped out knowing there wasn't much I could do to prevent the pain. The nurse started with the rotavirus drink, which Fiona accepted like a champ. Then she got one shot in her left thigh and two in her right. These nurses nurses really know what they're doing. She positioned herself just so that I couldn't see the actual injections taking place. All I could see was poor little Fiona's face as that first injection registered.
Thinking about it now, a full week later, and I still want to cry. A surprising amount of emotion was clear on that tiny little face of hers: confusion ("What did I do to deserve this??"), anger ("Goddammit, you bastard, that hurts!", pain ("OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!") and overall upset ("Mommy!!! Make it better!") All I could do was comfort her afterwards, and that was no small feat. Thankfully, I have with me at all times Fiona's two favorite things in all the world: Left Boob and Right Boob. Once she'd had a visit with each of them, she was in much better spirits.
The remainder of the day was so peaceful as Fiona slept for most of it. I wasn't surprised. I remember my last round of vaccination shots back when I was 18 and getting ready to leave for college. I slept the entire day afterwards, too. Still, I kept an eagle eye on her all day, watching for bad reactions. But she's such a trooper. She had three tiny bruises at the injection sites, but no fever, no apparent discomfort, and no illness.
Already, I dread her four-month appointment during which she'll have her second round of shots. I'll be back to work by then, but based on how traumatic the first round of shots was I think I'll have to take the day off so I can recover emotionally.
As with the previous visit to the pediatrician, Fiona checks out to be very healthy. The doctor says she's right on track with everything and looks great. She was even impressed with Fiona's strength and figures she'll be early to roll over. Not two seconds after she said this Fiona rolled over on the exam table. Little show-off. I was so proud. Granted, she was probably helped out a bit by the incline at the head of the table. But still: for one, her timing couldn't have been better, and two, she really is that strong.
On to the rundown of her stats:
Weight: 13 pounds, 8.2 ounces. That's right. She gained nearly three pounds in the last month. She bumped herself into the 97th percentile for weight. This really came as no surprise to us since M and I both are having more back pain every day. Holding Fiona is fast becoming a weight-training regimen.
Length: 23.5 inches, a gain of an inch and-a-half since her one-month appointment, and reaching the 75th percentile for weight. Our little basketball player could very well outpace both her parents in stature. After all, her height at two months of age is an adequate indicator, right?
The appointment could not end without some trauma, of course. We also had to face the horror of her first round of vaccinations. This experience was nearly as bad for me as it was for Fiona - maybe worse. For her it was momentary pain from three shots. For me, it was having my heart ripped out knowing there wasn't much I could do to prevent the pain. The nurse started with the rotavirus drink, which Fiona accepted like a champ. Then she got one shot in her left thigh and two in her right. These nurses nurses really know what they're doing. She positioned herself just so that I couldn't see the actual injections taking place. All I could see was poor little Fiona's face as that first injection registered.
Thinking about it now, a full week later, and I still want to cry. A surprising amount of emotion was clear on that tiny little face of hers: confusion ("What did I do to deserve this??"), anger ("Goddammit, you bastard, that hurts!", pain ("OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!") and overall upset ("Mommy!!! Make it better!") All I could do was comfort her afterwards, and that was no small feat. Thankfully, I have with me at all times Fiona's two favorite things in all the world: Left Boob and Right Boob. Once she'd had a visit with each of them, she was in much better spirits.
The remainder of the day was so peaceful as Fiona slept for most of it. I wasn't surprised. I remember my last round of vaccination shots back when I was 18 and getting ready to leave for college. I slept the entire day afterwards, too. Still, I kept an eagle eye on her all day, watching for bad reactions. But she's such a trooper. She had three tiny bruises at the injection sites, but no fever, no apparent discomfort, and no illness.
Already, I dread her four-month appointment during which she'll have her second round of shots. I'll be back to work by then, but based on how traumatic the first round of shots was I think I'll have to take the day off so I can recover emotionally.
Friday, October 12, 2007
TV Sucks Bigtime
During the past 8 weeks I've been home on maternity leave, I've had the opportunity to realize just how very, very much TV sucks. There is so much crap available for viewing at any hour of the day it boggles the mind. Right before it churns said mind to an oatmeal-like consistency. I'm almost looking forward to returning to work just so I can avoid looking at the idiot box for so many hours a day.
There are major turds to be found on every channel, even ones I would have considered non-sucking. For instance, HGTV, to which I am typically glued on the weekends, has a bunch of seriously lame shows where people do sub-par crafts ("After the break, we'll show you how to make this tribal drum end table!") while smiling insanely. The Food Network shows waaaay too much Rachel Ray (of course, in my book any Rachel Ray is too much). Travel Channel has the giddies for Jeff Corwin; he's alright, but a little too cool-guy-goofy-smug for my taste. TNT and TBS are my usual go-tos, but even they let me down from time to time, showing more Home Improvement and Married With Children than I choose to watch.
Of course, that's just the basic cable channels. I don't even bother with regular network television. I'm sorry, but I will never be desperate enough to watch Dr. Phil, Tyra, or whoever else is on the air these days after having sold their souls to Lucifer. Before Fiona and I discovered the magic of sleeping late together, it was all I could do to watch The Today Show. That much perky that early and you could strain something!
Soap operas have also descended beneath me at this point. Growing up I was an avid Days of Our Lives fan, but it's just not worth it anymore. I'm annoyed that there are so many new characters. By the same token, I'm annoyed that so many characters remain - and are STILL up to their same old tricks. BOOORING.
I don't even want to get into the commercials that air during the day. I've seen way more ads for ambulance chaser lawyers, credit counseling agencies, and Vehix than I ever hoped to. Seriously, who does the media buys for these companies, monkeys? Because it seems to me like forcing people to watch the same ad more than once during every commercial break of on half-hour program isn't smart media planning. But maybe it's just me.
I have a schedule I typically follow nowadays. It's not great, but it works for Fiona and me. In the super-early hours when Fiona wakes up for a feeding, I'm likely to catch an episode of Dawson's Creek, which I was never really into when it originally aired but will suffice to keep me company when the world is dark and quiet. Later on, if we make it up in time, we'll watch two episodes of Charmed (from the Shannen Doherty days) from 8:00 to 10:00. From 10:00 to 11:00 it's Frasier, and then Will & Grace (if I'm not too annoyed by it that day) until noon. Then we hit something of a dry spell for the day. Most days I'll turn off the TV and turn on classical music. But when the need for company other than a screaming baby overwhelms, I'll turn on What Not to Wear from noon to 1:00, and follow it up with Ten Years Younger until 2:00. Last month, between 2:00 and 4:00 I'd be watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, but Spike TV turned stupid and stopped airing it by October 1. Bastards. So now I just wander through TV hell, occasionally landing on something that I don't hate until 4:00 when there are two more episodes of Charmed (from the Rose McGowan era). From 6:00 to 7:00 I'll watch whatever catches my eye. By 7:00, M is home and Scrubs comes on.
Sure, my brain is rotting and I'm turning my kid stupid by watching so much TV. But with a child that opts not to be put down as a general rule, there's not a lot else for me to do. I feel bad about this. But being entertained 24/7 is extremely important to me. Plus, Fiona's not much of a conversationalist just yet. I bet when I'm back at work in less than four weeks, I'll really miss all the crappy TV I've been watching. Well, no - I'm sure TV will be the farthest thing from my mind. What I'll be missing is the entertainment I get out of Fiona. She's the best kind of TV.
There are major turds to be found on every channel, even ones I would have considered non-sucking. For instance, HGTV, to which I am typically glued on the weekends, has a bunch of seriously lame shows where people do sub-par crafts ("After the break, we'll show you how to make this tribal drum end table!") while smiling insanely. The Food Network shows waaaay too much Rachel Ray (of course, in my book any Rachel Ray is too much). Travel Channel has the giddies for Jeff Corwin; he's alright, but a little too cool-guy-goofy-smug for my taste. TNT and TBS are my usual go-tos, but even they let me down from time to time, showing more Home Improvement and Married With Children than I choose to watch.
Of course, that's just the basic cable channels. I don't even bother with regular network television. I'm sorry, but I will never be desperate enough to watch Dr. Phil, Tyra, or whoever else is on the air these days after having sold their souls to Lucifer. Before Fiona and I discovered the magic of sleeping late together, it was all I could do to watch The Today Show. That much perky that early and you could strain something!
Soap operas have also descended beneath me at this point. Growing up I was an avid Days of Our Lives fan, but it's just not worth it anymore. I'm annoyed that there are so many new characters. By the same token, I'm annoyed that so many characters remain - and are STILL up to their same old tricks. BOOORING.
I don't even want to get into the commercials that air during the day. I've seen way more ads for ambulance chaser lawyers, credit counseling agencies, and Vehix than I ever hoped to. Seriously, who does the media buys for these companies, monkeys? Because it seems to me like forcing people to watch the same ad more than once during every commercial break of on half-hour program isn't smart media planning. But maybe it's just me.
I have a schedule I typically follow nowadays. It's not great, but it works for Fiona and me. In the super-early hours when Fiona wakes up for a feeding, I'm likely to catch an episode of Dawson's Creek, which I was never really into when it originally aired but will suffice to keep me company when the world is dark and quiet. Later on, if we make it up in time, we'll watch two episodes of Charmed (from the Shannen Doherty days) from 8:00 to 10:00. From 10:00 to 11:00 it's Frasier, and then Will & Grace (if I'm not too annoyed by it that day) until noon. Then we hit something of a dry spell for the day. Most days I'll turn off the TV and turn on classical music. But when the need for company other than a screaming baby overwhelms, I'll turn on What Not to Wear from noon to 1:00, and follow it up with Ten Years Younger until 2:00. Last month, between 2:00 and 4:00 I'd be watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, but Spike TV turned stupid and stopped airing it by October 1. Bastards. So now I just wander through TV hell, occasionally landing on something that I don't hate until 4:00 when there are two more episodes of Charmed (from the Rose McGowan era). From 6:00 to 7:00 I'll watch whatever catches my eye. By 7:00, M is home and Scrubs comes on.
Sure, my brain is rotting and I'm turning my kid stupid by watching so much TV. But with a child that opts not to be put down as a general rule, there's not a lot else for me to do. I feel bad about this. But being entertained 24/7 is extremely important to me. Plus, Fiona's not much of a conversationalist just yet. I bet when I'm back at work in less than four weeks, I'll really miss all the crappy TV I've been watching. Well, no - I'm sure TV will be the farthest thing from my mind. What I'll be missing is the entertainment I get out of Fiona. She's the best kind of TV.
Big Love
Some women who have a baby and feel an overwhelming love for their child before it's even out of the womb. Some fall so deeply in love at first sight of their newborn that they are overcome. I was not one of these women.
Sure, while I was pregnant with Fiona, I was very committed to her, and I loved her in a way. But she was such a mystery at the time. A future child about which I knew nothing save that she was growing in me. And when she was born, I cried with joy and my feelings for her deepened. But still, what I felt was more a mix of relief that she had been born safely at last and a sense of wonder that she had actually come out of me. I remember being surprised somehow when M touched her head as I held her in the hospital and said, "I love her." I knew I was happy to have her, and I would be crushed to ever lose her. But she and I still had a road to travel together before the real love fireworks would begin.
I think it took a couple of weeks before I felt the kind of love that other mothers experience instantly upon laying eyes upon their children; and even then, it was a gradual thing. I don't know the exact day or moment it happened. But at some point I started saying "I love you" and I haven't been able to stop. Sometimes I say it to her over and over again. I hug her and kiss her as if my life depended on it. This is seriously big love.
I wonder if it makes me sound like a bad mother to admit I didn't feel that all-consuming, bone-crushing love for my baby when she was first born. I can promise that I'm making up for it now. And I know now that unless you've had a child - whether biologically or otherwise - it's impossible to know this love. I had no idea what I was in for when M and I decided to have a baby. I understand now why my mother - who is NOT a kid person by any stretch (although she does have a soft spot for Fiona) - could have been so loving and giving and kind to me. I understand why my father still talks about how much he regrets not having picked up and moved his life from North Dakota to Montana when my mother moved us there after their divorce. I understand how mothers lift cars with their bare hands in order to save their babies' lives. This love makes you stronger.
At the same time, though, this love can make you utterly weak. I am completely at Fiona's mercy. There is nothing I wouldn't give her. I am putty in her tiny little hands, and she melts my heart with her cries as much as with her smiles. I can't believe I used to not want this. I know I had my reasons, and they were no doubt valid. But I've never been happier about changing my mind.
Sure, while I was pregnant with Fiona, I was very committed to her, and I loved her in a way. But she was such a mystery at the time. A future child about which I knew nothing save that she was growing in me. And when she was born, I cried with joy and my feelings for her deepened. But still, what I felt was more a mix of relief that she had been born safely at last and a sense of wonder that she had actually come out of me. I remember being surprised somehow when M touched her head as I held her in the hospital and said, "I love her." I knew I was happy to have her, and I would be crushed to ever lose her. But she and I still had a road to travel together before the real love fireworks would begin.
I think it took a couple of weeks before I felt the kind of love that other mothers experience instantly upon laying eyes upon their children; and even then, it was a gradual thing. I don't know the exact day or moment it happened. But at some point I started saying "I love you" and I haven't been able to stop. Sometimes I say it to her over and over again. I hug her and kiss her as if my life depended on it. This is seriously big love.
I wonder if it makes me sound like a bad mother to admit I didn't feel that all-consuming, bone-crushing love for my baby when she was first born. I can promise that I'm making up for it now. And I know now that unless you've had a child - whether biologically or otherwise - it's impossible to know this love. I had no idea what I was in for when M and I decided to have a baby. I understand now why my mother - who is NOT a kid person by any stretch (although she does have a soft spot for Fiona) - could have been so loving and giving and kind to me. I understand why my father still talks about how much he regrets not having picked up and moved his life from North Dakota to Montana when my mother moved us there after their divorce. I understand how mothers lift cars with their bare hands in order to save their babies' lives. This love makes you stronger.
At the same time, though, this love can make you utterly weak. I am completely at Fiona's mercy. There is nothing I wouldn't give her. I am putty in her tiny little hands, and she melts my heart with her cries as much as with her smiles. I can't believe I used to not want this. I know I had my reasons, and they were no doubt valid. But I've never been happier about changing my mind.
Long time, no post
I've been most remiss in keeping this blog up to date. I'm not lazy, I swear. I just have a rather fussy baby in my care. Fiona does not take well to being put down as a general rule. She's getting better as she gets older, but she's really a big, BIG fan of being held. This is fine, as I am a big fan of holding her. She is really cute, after all.
This situation, however, means I'm completely tied to the kid most of the time. What little free time Fiona affords me is frivolously spent showering, eating, peeing, washing my hands, and spending far too little quality time with the dog. Poor Ollie was probably so psyched to get to be out of the crate and home with one of us all day every day until he realized that Fiona and I are pretty useless to him.
Yes, I fritter my days away cuddling, feeding, changing, and generally dealing with the wee one instead of keeping my anxious readers up to date on the fascinating goings on of parenthood. But like I said, Fiona is growing more and more agreeable all the time, so I'm recommitting myself to posting on a more regular basis. In the meantime, here's what's been going on in a nutshell:
- I'm up to my elbows in baby poo.
- When I sweat, it smells like breastmilk. Thank god the heat finally broke so I don't sweat as much.
- Cloth diapers allay a LOT of potential guilt.
- Buying baby clothes and other stuff is addictive.
- I can get by on way less sleep than I used to.
- Fiona is easily the most adorable creature I've ever met.
- I am in love.
Stay tuned. More irresistible updates will be posted soon!
This situation, however, means I'm completely tied to the kid most of the time. What little free time Fiona affords me is frivolously spent showering, eating, peeing, washing my hands, and spending far too little quality time with the dog. Poor Ollie was probably so psyched to get to be out of the crate and home with one of us all day every day until he realized that Fiona and I are pretty useless to him.
Yes, I fritter my days away cuddling, feeding, changing, and generally dealing with the wee one instead of keeping my anxious readers up to date on the fascinating goings on of parenthood. But like I said, Fiona is growing more and more agreeable all the time, so I'm recommitting myself to posting on a more regular basis. In the meantime, here's what's been going on in a nutshell:
- I'm up to my elbows in baby poo.
- When I sweat, it smells like breastmilk. Thank god the heat finally broke so I don't sweat as much.
- Cloth diapers allay a LOT of potential guilt.
- Buying baby clothes and other stuff is addictive.
- I can get by on way less sleep than I used to.
- Fiona is easily the most adorable creature I've ever met.
- I am in love.
Stay tuned. More irresistible updates will be posted soon!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Month One Stats
Fiona's one-month doctor visit was yesterday. It was supposed to be the day before, but somehow I managed to put the wrong time on my calendar so when I showed up at 10:15 for it, the receptionist said the appointment was long past since it was scheduled for 9:15. Yeah, as if I'd ever make an appointment for that early in the morning.
All's well in Fiona-world as far as her health goes, though. Here's a quick rundown of her stats:
Weight: 10 pounds, 12.2 ounces. Our little piggie has gained nearly two pounds from her birth weight; nearly three if you account for the pound she lost after being born. This puts her in the 90th percentile for weight. SWEET!
Length: 22 inches. Two and a quarter inches since birth. Not exactly basketball player height, but she's average, landing in the 55th percentile. Hmm... 90th percentile for weight, 55th for height. Already she's taking after her parents' body shapes. Poor thing.
In spite of a lot of congestion - totally normal for a little bean such as herself - Fiona checks out as totally healthy. Her lungs sound clear and strong (especially if you gauge by the ear-splitting screams she was emitting during much of the appointment), her heart sounds great, and everything else is on target. She's growing like a weed, which makes me so happy. After the anxiety of that first week when she lost so much weight and was so unhappy due to hunger, I couldn't be more relieved that she's doing so well now. Plus, I feel a certain sense of pride knowing that her awesome growth is due to the milk I'm making and giving to her. Sure, it's a natural process and I don't have a lot of control over it. But there's something very satisfying about the fact that my boobs have the awesome power to feed and nourish my daughter. This along with the awesome powers I already knew they possessed. Hot damn, the sisters have skills!
Fiona's next appointment next month will likely be less fun as she'll be getting her first round of vaccinations. I'm already dreading it, hating to see her in pain of any kind. Especially legitimate pain. She squawks plenty from silly stuff like being changed when she's really hungry, or being put down when she's feeling needy. But this appointment will produce serious owies, and I am already steeling myself for the trauma my poor daughter will be experiencing. I get upset when my cats and dog get shots. I think seeing my own flesh and blood get pricked will probably drive me a little batty. Sorry, battier.
All's well in Fiona-world as far as her health goes, though. Here's a quick rundown of her stats:
Weight: 10 pounds, 12.2 ounces. Our little piggie has gained nearly two pounds from her birth weight; nearly three if you account for the pound she lost after being born. This puts her in the 90th percentile for weight. SWEET!
Length: 22 inches. Two and a quarter inches since birth. Not exactly basketball player height, but she's average, landing in the 55th percentile. Hmm... 90th percentile for weight, 55th for height. Already she's taking after her parents' body shapes. Poor thing.
In spite of a lot of congestion - totally normal for a little bean such as herself - Fiona checks out as totally healthy. Her lungs sound clear and strong (especially if you gauge by the ear-splitting screams she was emitting during much of the appointment), her heart sounds great, and everything else is on target. She's growing like a weed, which makes me so happy. After the anxiety of that first week when she lost so much weight and was so unhappy due to hunger, I couldn't be more relieved that she's doing so well now. Plus, I feel a certain sense of pride knowing that her awesome growth is due to the milk I'm making and giving to her. Sure, it's a natural process and I don't have a lot of control over it. But there's something very satisfying about the fact that my boobs have the awesome power to feed and nourish my daughter. This along with the awesome powers I already knew they possessed. Hot damn, the sisters have skills!
Fiona's next appointment next month will likely be less fun as she'll be getting her first round of vaccinations. I'm already dreading it, hating to see her in pain of any kind. Especially legitimate pain. She squawks plenty from silly stuff like being changed when she's really hungry, or being put down when she's feeling needy. But this appointment will produce serious owies, and I am already steeling myself for the trauma my poor daughter will be experiencing. I get upset when my cats and dog get shots. I think seeing my own flesh and blood get pricked will probably drive me a little batty. Sorry, battier.
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