Maybe Reflux?

Bean has hiccuped a lot since birth. That’s not unusual in babies. She doesn’t spit up hardly at all.

But she does cry a lot. And lately (the past five days) she has begun to pull off the bottle after only an ounce, maybe two, screaming. She’s clearly hungry but then sucks some more and pulls away again. We aren’t sure if she hates the taste of the formula (which stinks terribly, worse than wet cat food). We tried a different brand (Enfamil) of the hypoallergenic to see if it was less stinky, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference.

I’m beginning to wonder if she has acid reflux. I didn’t realize until I came across an article that gastroesophageal reflux (GER) doesn’t have to include spit-up as a symptom, and that hiccups can be symptomatic. The article that caught my attention is from a site called Pollywog, which sells yet another product to desperate parents. But at least I learned something that prompts me to call the pediatrician tomorrow.

Bean had a really good day today, with the exception of fussy feedings. She didn’t starting screaming inconsolably until 5 p.m. Poor Husband got to come home to that.

I’m trying not to worry. I can’t help but feel helpless and stressed that something is really wrong that we’re not attending to.

Showtime

Husband returns to work today. It’s just me and Bean until the evening.

I emailed some friends asking them to help out by visiting me a couple hours during the day in the next couple of weeks. It will give me company, or a break for a shower or something. Their response has been supportive. For this week, one person is coming over to visit each weekday. That’s comforting.

Eeek! I’m on my own. It feels like I’m truly stepping into motherhood in a way I haven’t yet because someone else has always been around. Suddenly I’m in charge of the store. It’s all me. I feel a tad giddy.
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I must remember that when I hear about “normal” sleep routines for infants, they are talking about non-colicky children. Husband and I are gradually moving toward a going-to-sleep routine for her, but right now her sleep time is all over the clock. There is a kind of rhythm, but it shifts daily back and forth a bit (i.e., one morning she awakes at 5:45 hungry, another at 6:30). Her afternoons and evenings (until about 10 p.m.) are the worst. Lots of squalling interrupted by fitful catnaps in our arms. Sometimes she gives distinct hunger cues and we provide a bottle, only to see her take one ounce. But when your child is screaming and giving cues that look like hunger, and it’s been at least two hours since the last meal, what else to do? Dr. Spock’s book (given to me by a cousin) mentions that sometimes colicky babies can’t tell the difference between hunger pangs and stomach/colic pain. Oy.

(By the way, someone asked if I was breastfeeding. I started out trying and she got colostrum and a little milk. However, my milk never really came in despite putting her on my breast, using a Supplemental Nursing System, and pumping every two hours for many days. What little I had dried up; I never engorged, I never let down. Meanwhile we had to supplement with formula to keep her from starving; by day 12 after her birth, I made peace with this.)

We did have a lovely day up until about 1:30 p.m. yesterday. She was quite cheerful, in fact. She also had some cheerful moments in the evening just shortly after eating her small meal, before remembering to fuss again.

Well, it’s time for the Mommy show!

All the world’s a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.

–Sean O’Casey

Poor Kid

This post has been updated with a photo of me and Bean (in profile) below. (I don’t post photos of Husband on the blog.)

I’ve got one new photo up of Hurricane Bean in addition to the one below. After several days of long crying bouts and obvious tummy pain, we help Bean catch sleep where and when she can. The photo is how she has spent much of Saturday afternoon — on the Daddy Divan.

I’m providing a link to it, though since it’s categorized for friends and family, if you’re not a Flickr member with that status, you might not be able to see it.

But give it a try: here.

I gotta say, colic throws all hope of a routine or schedule haywire at a time when they are most needed. I’m not a fan of CIO (Cry It Out — hell, I can barely tolerate my baby’s cry), but I’m also sick of the guilt trip I feel when I read anything by the Attachment Parenting Terrorists. (That is not my term but I love it; I’ll let the person who coined it claim credit in the comments. Per the suggestion of said person, I’ve stopped reading their material.) Our doctor has said the baby is too young for sleep training, but that’s not what we want to do. We’ve needed guidance on how to ease this child into the sleep she so desperately, clearly needs. As I sorted through handouts from the class we took at our medical center, I came across a list of suggestions that seem helpful.

At the yarn store the other day, I commented on how she will not permit herself to be put down for very long. Someone said, “Why would you want to put your baby down? Why wouldn’t you want to hold and carry her?” I replied that sometimes you gotta answer the call of nature, or geeze, maybe eat something. The reply came, “Well when she’s a toddler and going through separation anxiety you won’t be able to go to the bathroom alone anyway!” That’s not the point. Since Bean fights the Infantino carrier and the Moby wrap, I can’t wear her as I’d intended. I really resent the implication in that question that I’m an unloving parent simply because I don’t want to hold my child 24 hours a day every day. It’s not just that I don’t want to — it’s also physically unfeasible. So if you’re inclined to think this way and judge me, do us all a favor and shut up already.

My mother-in-law called; she just returned at 11 p.m. yesterday from a trip to China. She wasted no time telling me she’ll come back to help out if I want her to. We may just take her offer!

after a slow meal

Bean at 6 weeks, exhausted from colic

The Day Is Long

I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. I don’t have the energy to write much about the kind of day we’ve had. It’s humbling to helplessly watch your child who cannot tell you what’s wrong as she screams, sobs, and suffers for hours, and the only recourse is to witness and provide companionship throughout. I cannot fix this. Somehow, I need to accept this and put aside my discomfort, to turn my attention in empathy toward this little being, to stop focusing on how all this makes me feel. It’s an invitation to practice tonglen… motherhood as a spiritual practice (I know a great book about that).

I thought we had discovered routines and methods that would work. Today proved me wrong. I am being challenged in ways I may someday understand enough to describe. Until then, I’ll let Karen’s words stand in for me:

Colic arrives just as you begin to think you have a grasp, a handle, a way of living in the new world. It tears that grip away from you. It steals every ounce of optimism, every hopeful conclusion. It shreds every fix and remedy. It leaves you with nothing to try or trust. Nothing but time.

Colic is the last thing you expect to give birth to. No one wishes it on anyone. But in its own ravaging wake, it leaves a gift. That’s the gift of not knowing. Not knowing when or how or if. Of surrendering to futility. Of succumbing to the tears. Of accepting the certainty of nothing but another day, and a different ending.

Everyone always outgrows colic. But I’m not sure anyone ever outgrows colic. Least of all the parent.

–Karen Maezen Miller, Cheerio Road

Where To Begin?

I want to tell you how the past couple of days have been, but I don’t know how much detail you want about my daughter’s poop.

Let’s just say that we’ve tried three new, different formulas. One of them seems to have helped. We had one good day, and then it all went to hell yesterday afternoon and evening. We think it’s one of the formulas that upset her stomach, so we’re back to the one we used on the day she seemed better. Wouldn’t you know, it’s the one that is twice as expensive as all the other formulas on the market. Forget saving for college! We need to feed her first.

We’ve changed several things in her routine, however, so we aren’t sure which variable is working. I was probably overdoing interaction with her. She seemed hyper-alert and to fight sleeping — a sign that she was overtired. Karen very kindly shared her wisdom via phone, and she made the point that simple consciousness is quite a lot of stimulation for babies. So we’ve spent the past few days mostly in her room. We feed her there, play with her a little, and rock her to sleep, and often sit for hours while she sleeps on us. Sometimes we put her in the crib and she’ll stay asleep for an hour or two. Other times she wakes within five minutes. We’ve taken her out on one errand and on a walk, but we’re trying to control the environment a bit more. She is, after all, only five weeks old.

I tried the Moby Wrap with her, but she’s having none of that! At least, not at this age. Maybe once she can support her head it will work. The Miracle Blanket (swaddle) has helped some, but unless she’s really exhausted and stressed, she kicks her legs out. This child is just so changeable, it’s difficult to know what will work. What helps one day doesn’t the next, or even within the same day.

Everyone’s comments on the last post have been most helpful, especially the reassurance from those who have walked this path before.

Sadness and “The Magic Question”

One time I went to see Maezumi Roshi after a meditation session in which the tears streamed in rivulets down my cheeks.

“I’m sitting in a field of sadness,” I said to him. I was a tiny bit pleased by my poetic expression. I thought we might talk about it, rooting out the cause, and apply a kind of treatment.

“When you’re sad, be sad,” he said. And that was all he said. I confess I found it abrupt, considering my experience with other kinds of counselors. He didn’t criticize me, he didn’t correct me, he just didn’t dwell. He didn’t dwell.

In life, nothing dwells. The wind blows and then stops. The blossoms burst forth and then fall. Things come and go. The melody drifts back onto an aching E-flat and then back to E again. The song of your life is played on white and black keys.

I won’t linger but I am likely to post again about sadness as a cornerstone of Buddhism, as an essential truth of human life. I won’t dwell. I won’t build a hut. Promise me you won’t build one either. Not while the song is still playing.

–Karen Maezen Miller, Cheerio Road

This morning I was sad. This afternoon I was also sad. It started at 4 a.m. when Husband had to get up every five minutes because Bean will not stay asleep in her crib, and I began to worry that I am doing something wrong. Then it was my turn with her starting at 5 a.m. She ate well enough, but became fussy which turned into scream-crying so that by 10 a.m., we were in tatters. I’d called the doctor to ask questions about infants and sleeping habits, and when she returned the call Bean was in Dolby surround scream. I had to put her down in the crib and go to the next room to carry on the conversation, and Bean screamed bloody murder the entire five minutes of the call, while the doctor in her calm demeanor said, Well, it does sound as though she has colic. Which told me exactly nothing helpful. She said switching formulas won’t hurt but probably won’t help. She said she thinks the cause of the gas is that she’s crying so much she’s swallowing a lot of air, which switching formulas won’t help.

By the end of the call, Bean had exhausted herself and lay spent in her crib, not crying. I had never left her to cry alone before, because I haven’t been able to bear the idea and until that moment, was able to avoid it. (You know what? It didn’t kill her. That’s not to say I think it’s a good idea to do it all the time, but the experience removed one brick from the irrational foundation of Supermom Expectations upon which I have constructed my mother identity.)

Anyway, I went upstairs and rousted Husband from his too-short sleep shift, frantic about the colic, the baby, and myself. I returned to her room and picked her up, and she immediately began to drowse. Husband came into Bean’s room to listen to me rant and cry. Then he took Bean in his arms, which woke her and began the screaming cycle all over. Then my friend (one of the Emergency Backup Parents) came to get me and go to lunch. I wasn’t hungry, so we went back to her place while she ate leftovers and I drank coffee and sobbed. That helped, as did talking about the experience.

We stopped at Safeway on the way home to get lactose-free formula (since Husband is lactose intolerant, that seems a good first step). Upon arriving home — two hours later — Husband was still with Bean in his arms, and she was calm, but as soon as she heard us she began to cry. K hung out with us for a couple hours and held her.

The point is, I felt much less sad by the end of the day. The love of my friend and spouse and the change of scenery helped. After K had to leave, I took Bean and she slept in my arms for two more hours, until I had to put her down to use the bathroom. She awoke, began crying. I changed her diaper, and still she cried (she was hungry by now), at which point Husband (who’d gone for a nap) was awakened and offered to take charge. He fed her some of the new formula, and we’ll see how it goes. At the moment she’s asleep in her swing.

So often when she’s in the swing or her crib and I hear her mewl, I want to leap up and pick her up. I don’t give the situation a chance to play out a little longer, to see if this is a momentary disruption that she can settle for herself. This is also why I rarely sleep when Husband comes to bed after the 3 a.m. feeding and turns the monitor on. On some level I’m unable to let go and sleep deeply, and as soon as I hear a moan or movement I’m alert.

Now, I’ve written this to Karen:

Why am I afraid of my child’s cry?
Why am I afraid to allow my child to cry?
Why am I afraid of leaving my child crying while I do something else?
Why does her crying upset me so much?

Karen’s response was:

This is an answer that is more of a question. The questions you ask in all variations are simply, “why.” Maezumi Roshi called this the “magic question.” Not because it has an answer, because the only kind of answer to any question that begins “why?” is simply something you make up out of threads of logic and reasoning. (The whole of psychology, actually the whole of science is just this kind of made-up “answer.” And that’s why the answers of science keep changing!)

No, the reason Roshi called this “the magic question” is because the question is precisely what you have to overcome. The question points precisely to the limitations of intellect. It leads you directly to what you don’t know. You need to face this question yourself, Kathryn, and you need to stare it down, not answer it, not play with it, not wonder, surmise, imagine, deduce, reason, rationalize, probe. You need to face this question and see how much difficulty it causes you. And then you need to get over it.

In a nutshell, you have associated a baby’s cry with the message that something is “wrong.” That something must be “fixed.” And you recoil from your interpretation of it as such. But a cry is just a cry. Yes, it’s a form of communication. But it’s not a judgment or a repudiation of you. Babies cry! Dogs bark! Engines roar. (And some people respond the very same way to dogs barking, or horns sounding, or thunder, or any of the world of sounds and events that occur in this wide world.)

Now you can’t think your way to any of this. It seems to me the best way to overcome all this is to let it bother you. That means, when the baby cries, don’t be afraid to cry with her. Perhaps you will see that crying is only crying, that it can feel good to cry, that in and of itself it is harmless and necessary, like breathing, and your crying baby will seem less like an adversary and more like the companion that she now is… for the rest of your life and beyond.

Believe me, when you can cry with your child you’ll have a much better chance of laughing with her too. One is neither better nor worse than the other, but by all means don’t cheat yourself out of the whole of human experience.

I wish I could fix it for you, like a mother always wishes, but our true job is just this: to keep company with our children.

I am pondering this, and applying her suggestions.

It occurred to me, today, that this crying bothers me because I’m terrified of failing. Failing what? Failing at motherhood and mothering. Failing my child. Causing my child psychological damage because I’ve got this irrational fear that crying is damaging. (I’ve read too many attachment parenting sites that say “crying it out” leads infants to become despondent, since they learn that no one will answer their cries and then they become withdrawn. Then I’ve interpreted it extremely — i.e., any bouts of unconsoled crying are damaging — and told myself I must not do this to my child.) I’m also afraid of my child, of not knowing, of the future, and of myself. So much fear.

I’ve taken big risks before, risks other people admire and wish they too could take, risks that allowed me to seize Life and have more of it: quitting my job of ten years and moving out of my hometown of 31 years to a new city 1800 miles away with no job or place to live waiting. Going back to school full-time to get a graduate degree. Starting my own business. I’ve “felt the fear and did it anyway.” I’ve stared my fear down and moved through it. But this? This is a different type of fear. The risk and vulnerability I felt before applied only to me, to my life. Now I’m responsible for this little person’s life. She didn’t ask to be born. She’s vulnerable. She has no control. I took a risk that resulted in the creation of another being and for whom I’m responsible. There is no going back, only forward, and there are a billion variables at play. I am not objective or detached in this.

I used to babysit my friend’s child when he was about two, and he would cry hysterically when his mother left for work. I’d hold him and be his companion through it, and the storm would pass, and he’d cheer up and we’d play. We had a fine time. I was able to handle his emotions calmly and to be with him. Why can’t I do this for my own child?

Oops. Pointless question.

Daily Shower Cleaner

I hate cleaning. I especially hate cleaning the shower (it’s huge). Yet nothing is more gross than showering in a scum-filled, mildew-ridden cubicle. The point is to get clean there, right?

I use a daily shower spray to help, and it really does work. But damn, I go through a lot, and the refills aren’t cheap. I found a recipe to make my own that works.

Mix together and put into a spray bottle:

One-half cup of hydrogen peroxide
One-half cup of rubbing alcohol
Six drops of grease cutting dishwashing liquid
Two teaspoons of liquid spot-free dishwasher rinse
Twenty-four ounces of water

Use daily.

Reprieve

After deliberating several days, Husband and I decided to extend his leave one more week. We have a few appointments this week anyway. My back has also improved, and this does much to increase my confidence. (Husband’s backache went away the day after he got it, thankfully.) I know I’ve got to face being on my own. Everyone’s feedback on the last post has been heartening. This week Husband and I will do a “trial run” of the schedule we’ve agreed to handle. (Not that Bean can be scheduled, but we’ve decided which of us is “on duty” with her at various points of the day and will implement that schedule this week.)

We had a really rough day with Bean two days ago. Around noon she ate, after which she cried hard on and off for the next eleven hours. She exhibited hunger signs every two hours but would only eat an ounce at a time, and she was super alert and would not nap at all. Finally at one point (the 11 p.m. meal), Husband changed the position to burp her and she let out three huge belches. (We often laugh at the size of the sound emanating from her little body.) After that she was cheerful and ate two more ounces. Saturday she ate heartily and we vigorously burped eery time. So it seems as though we need to be more aggressive burping her. We’ve also started to keep her swaddled while feeding her, and this seems to keep her more calm.

To that end, we ordered The Miracle Blanket (as the Kiddopotamus SwaddleMe doesn’t quite work for me as well as they do for Husband). I also ordered a Moby Wrap, which I hope Bean will accept being carried in. She often won’t sleep very long alone in her crib. She loves her big swing and will sleep in it, but it’s not suitable for leaving her alone, and it’s too big to be portable in the house. She’ll accept the vibrating bouncer, but only for short periods of about 20 minutes. She’s a very particular child! After her difficult day Friday, I spent 3.5 hours of Saturday morning holding her in the rocker as she slept (poor baby was so exhausted she had big bags under her eyes), with only a couple of minutes spent dashing to the bathroom and to get a mug of brewed coffee. I’m learning how to eat and drink one-handed.

Other minor things… While it doesn’t guarantee protection, I felt an urgency about getting a flu shot, and I did get out alone to Costco Friday and received it for $20. And then, treat of treats!, I also got a haircut. Nothing fancy — I’m a Supercuts sort of gal. It just felt so pleasing to get out alone and get it done. ~ I picked up a scarf I stopped knitting back in May. My hands didn’t go numb or tingle in the five minutes I knitted, so I’m optimistic. Knitting simple things will be a relaxing way to pass time; anymore I’m too scattered to read very long, but I want something in my hands when they aren’t full of a baby. ~ I’m behind on email, as usual. However, my power cord in the living room is wonky. Something punctured the casing and exposed the wire. I discovered this when I picked it up to examine what looked like a dirt spot on it and a spark flew out. It got unplugged from the wall immediately, and now the laptop lives mostly in the office.

This is not much of a post — it’s more a diary entry, filled with the mundane. Hope your weekend has been a good one.

Loving the Expanse

Karen at Cheerio Road has a neat post today about the Zen bookshelf. She mentions Rainer Maria Rilke’s book, Letters to a Young Poet. I haven’t read it entirely, but two of the readings at my wedding were from it. They captured what Husband and I discerned is the essence of marriage and what we commit to.

Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as whole and before an immense sky. …To love is also good, for love is difficult. For one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult task of all, the epitome, the ultimate test. It is that striving for which all other striving is merely preparation.

Love is a high inducement for individuals to ripen, to strive to mature in the inner self, to manifest maturity in the outer world, to become that manifestation for the sake of another. And this more human love will be consummated, endlessly considerate and gentle, good and clear in its bonding and releasing; it shall resemble that love for which we must prepare painstakingly and with fervor, which will be comprised of two solitudes protecting and touching and greeting each other.

–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Am I Ready?

Husband is scheduled to return to work on Monday the 15th. He has two remaining weeks of family parental leave that he could use, though we have a whole year to do that. He wanted to save them for “in case” — in case I get the flu, or something major comes up that requires his daily 24/7 presence.

And I’m resisting this, clinging to him. My back is still injured — some days are better than others, some movements are riskier than others. I can’t imagine being on my own with this child all day, five days a week. I’m up alone with her until noon-ish as it is, and the relief I feel when he wakes up (he’s not a slacker, he doesn’t get to sleep until 5 a.m.) is huge. When he returns to work, I’ll still be up with her at 5:30 a.m. He’ll go to work around 9:30 a.m., but he won’t get home until 7:00 p.m.. Holy hell! How am I going to entertain her/get a shower/coordinate an evening meal/get out of the house/do laundry without someone else around at least part of the day (during daylight hours)? She’s more alert now, awake for longer periods, but her attention span is short, and this means changing up our play every few minutes: a crinkly toy, followed by the baby gym, then a book read, then a rattle, then some holding and rocking. She lets me know when she wants a change or has had enough by crying. Keeping a baby occupied is more challenging than one would think.

In a fundamental way my life hasn’t changed. I can still sit on the sofa with the laptop while Pixie sleeps in the swing (a preferred place for napping). I tended to be a homebody before she was born, and I wasn’t much of a housekeeper or chef. Yet now I have this idea that I should be doing tasks I formerly let slide. Moreover, it’s the idea that I can no longer go anywhere (in the house or outside) without considering someone else’s safety and well-being that daunts me.

We need to discuss and decide before Friday. I know he needs to return to work, and that he wants to. Last night I went out with her alone and drove to the local yarn store to visit. (I was nervous about going out by myself and while successful, I felt a little stressed when I returned home.) You know, I had this idea that because I’m in my mid-40s, I’d be a confident, mellow mother, all centered and Mother Earth, yadayadayada — y’know, a grown-up. That has proved to be completely false.

Photo Op

A couple new photos of Princess Pixie are up at Flickr. One features a grin!

Yesterday at the doctor she weighed in at 8 pounds, 7 ounces; two weeks ago she was 7 pounds, 15 ounces. She’s still pretty small (in the 32nd percentile). But she is gaining, and that’s all that matters.

Today, she devoured 4.5 ounces at her 9:15 a.m. meal — the biggest amount yet. Maybe she’s revving up for a growth spurt? Some days she snacks, other days she’s ravenous. That meal was so big she is still asleep over three hours later.

Vulnerable

Husband came to bed at 3:30 a.m.; I awoke, and he told me he’d hurt his back. It’s the same muscle that I’ve been dealing with, the Latissimus dorsi. (That daughter of ours is gaining weight, and she requires many hours of holding and jiggling.) My back has been mildly better, but yesterday I carried Bean in the Infantino sling while doing housework, and when we got to the pediatrician’s office I sat down and the muscle spasmed again. It hurt like hell. I used ibuprofen, Icy Hot, and the heating pad all day.

Now Husband is hurt. He couldn’t get comfortable and was still awake when I arose at 5:30 this morning. He’s been doing all the lifting I could not, so what will we do? And I’m worried about him too. I don’t want him to be in pain.
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Daunting responsibility + new baby + inexperience + two tired and physically compromised parents – local family – established close community = SCARED AND LONELY
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Although we have friends here who are willing to help us, I commented last night to Husband that I feel lonely and vulnerable out here. Now that he’s hurt, I feel more so. There is something about family that feels more secure — if they live nearby. With friends it’s equally difficult to get beyond the feeling we are imposing. With family, there is an assumption that imposition is acceptable (whether that’s proper to assume, or realistic, is up for debate). I have the idea that local family assistance is easier because it is one unit, and members tend to communicate and collaborate. We have lots of friends locally, but they don’t know each other, and it’s up to us to speak up and coordinate assistance. When we barely know what day it is, that’s hard.

Also, local family means that they have their own homes and routines. Visiting family is lovely, yet it’s also stressful for everyone, because they are away from their own spaces and routines, and their 24/7 presence in our home is disruptive too. They also are unfamiliar with the city and have limited or no transportation, whereas if they lived here that would be one less concern (and one more way in which they could help by running errands). It’s also costly for family members to travel; we’re mindful of this effort on their part. It’s just that local family equals shared history and familiarity with geography that provides a valuable infrastructure to life. (This is an argument to join a religious community and become really involved, I suppose. That would be the Unitarian Universalists for us. But we need the support now, and it takes time to cultivate intentional family.)

I know we have resources. I know we are better off than many. Yet I feel, in this moment, rather sad. The nearest blood relative (to one or the other of us) lives 875 miles away — my mother-in-law, and she’s in China at the moment. (She’s willing to visit us anytime we ask once she’s back. Yet again, see above paragraph.) My sister-in-law from Austin is visiting in early November. We very much look forward to that. Now we just need to live through each day and it’s challenges until then. No self-pity party for us. I’m acknowledging the situation and my feelings about it — now it’s time for chin-up, stiff upper lip, positive thinking, and finding solutions.

Three Dozen Reasons

(This post is more for myself and may be of zero interest to you.)

I Am Grateful For/That:

  1. I have a washer and dryer inside my home and don’t have to lug laundry to a laundromat.
  2. Ditto for the dishwasher to save us from hand washing dishes constantly.
  3. The invention of the baby bottle dishwasher basket.
  4. I’ve got good quality ground coffee on hand (and it’s even fair trade coffee).
  5. Bean is growing and is over her cold.
  6. Slipping into deep, sweet sleep with the occasional help of Dr. Ambien.
  7. It doesn’t matter that the house hasn’t been vacuumed in a month, because I have a newborn, and that’s a reasonable excuse.
  8. Managing to put clean sheets on the bed and clean towels in the bathroom last night.
  9. Husband and I got long hot showers last night.
  10. Tivo. Costco.
  11. The 30 minutes I had yesterday to finish my pregnancy journal entries, complete with photos.
  12. The white noise CD Husband made (he found the sound files free on the web); when Bean is swaddled, rocked, and the volume is turned up sufficiently, it calms her immediately and helps her fall and stay asleep.
  13. Learning that noise comes in different colors.
  14. Other free stuff on the web, such as black and white shapes to print and show to baby.
  15. My sister-in-law is planning to visit from Austin sometime in the next month.
  16. Getting myself and Bean out for a short walk yesterday by myself (meaning I was able to lift the stroller and carrier and get us up and down the front stairs).
  17. Blogs such as: Cheerio Road, Antique Mommy, Cute Overload, I Can Has Cheezburger?
  18. Husband being such a collaborative and patient co-parent who is capable of seeing humor in many situations.
  19. Heating pads (and electricity) for my sore back.
  20. The magic of the baby swing. And D batteries.
  21. The look of recognition that I see glimmering in Bean’s eyes when I pick her up.
  22. Swaddling.
  23. Friends who come over on short notice to take a walk with me and Bean.
  24. Friends who bring us meals (home-made, deli, take-out, restaurant gift cards).
  25. The ten zillion old cloth diapers my mother sent us to use as burp cloths.
  26. Eucerin Aquafor healing ointment (great diaper rash preventive and general baby moisturizer).
  27. Adjusting to Bean’s crying (still challenged by that, though).
  28. Bean’s fascination when I read aloud to her; she turns her face toward me if she’s in the swing and looks intently in my direction, although I know she doesn’t see clearly.
  29. Generous family leave benefits from Husband’s employer.
  30. No more itching of my C-section scar.
  31. Stella the cat and her equanimous personality.
  32. The many gifts, cards, and flowers we (including Bean) received celebrating Bean’s birth.
  33. I’ve lost all of the baby weight and now weigh less than I did at conception last December. It’s good to wear my old clothes again.
  34. The pain in my left knee has gone, as has the hip joint pain, thanks to the Relaxin being out of my system.
  35. The pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel syndrome is abating; I still can’t knit, but my hands don’t go numb holding a pen or the phone anymore, and there aren’t shooting pains up my forearms anymore.
  36. Bean smiles!! Real smiles in response to ours. She also coos and vocalizes more.

Magic and Miracles

I got my first very tentative smile today!! I fed Bean at 9:45 a.m. She ate 3.25 ounces. Then I changed her. After, I held her in my arms and made mouth noises: clicking sounds with my tongue, “S” sounds, popping my lips. She stared at me, fascinated, and then I smiled and cooed at her. Her lips curled up in a slight smile for a second! Then I praised her with a happy voice and made more mouth noises. Then I smiled at her again, and she again returned with the briefest little grin. I swaddled her after this and put her in the swing, where she is sleepily swaying back and forth.

Yesterday she was fussy, fussy, fussy all afternoon. That’s Husband’s “shift” so to speak. I hope she gives him this little reward today.