Dear Veronica,
Today you are 5 weeks old.
You are no longer the tiny little infant we brought home all those weeks ago. You're, in fact, several pounds heavier and much more alert and oriented than those first few days. You're all limbs these days, stretching your sweet little legs and arms out in every direction whenever possible -- hard to imagine you ever kept them contained inside me for all those months.
In parenting news, I think your father and I are finally starting to get the hang of this thing. Well, it's not like we're awesome at it yet, but we're definitely getting better. And aside from all the spit up and pooping, which we know you can't help, you're a very good baby. You only cry when you're hungry, want to be picked up, need to be changed or are too tired because we dragged you all over town doing errands or to a loud, outdoor music festival (sorry about that one).
As I write this you're sitting in your bouncer staring furiously at a little dangling monkey and waving your arms about frantically. Well, you started to look like you thought the monkey was going to get you so now you're on my lap again nursing. You've been a lot more alert this last week, really looking at me and your father and giving us real smiles. It must be overwhelming I imagine, to suddenly be able to see this crazy world all around you.
I have to tell you, I went through a real mourning period these last few weeks. I just couldn't believe how much things had changed, how much you demanded of us, of me. The constant nursing, the hours spent pacing the house at 3AM (why is it always 3AM?), the sudden inability to do anything normal like go to the drugstore or take shower long enough to shave my legs. It was a lot to let go of all at once like that.
But I've turned a new leaf, or at least I'm trying to, and have been feeling better about just letting go of all of it. I've spent a lot more time this week just staring at you (at 3AM), or making funny faces for minutes on end just so you'll give me that weird half-smile, half-grimace you've been displaying so aptly. Yesterday I took two (count 'em) naps with you during the day. You were so sleepy and tiny and warm and you rested your little head in the crook of my arm and the scent of milk mingled with the sheets and we slept dreamlessly like that while the sun passed through the clouds outside the window.
The only thing I still really miss is your Dad. Sure, he and I have been spending more time than ever together these last weeks but it's not the kind of time I'm used to. All of our energy is focused on you, little one. Sometimes it seems we can go a whole evening together without even looking at one another. I know I'll get him back eventually, that you'll start sleeping through the night and that we'll be able to go on dates again one day, but for now I miss the way things used to be with him.
Last night you slept for three solid hours (for the first time ever) and perhaps would have slept longer, except I woke at 2AM with so much milk that it was painful. I tried going back to sleep but dreamed about pumping just to alleviate the pain, and so I finally kicked back the sheets and brought you in bed with me to nurse. You didn't want to wake up though so I left you to cuddle with your dad while I sat in the living room with the breast pump.
I'd only been out there for 5 minutes when the light went on in the bedroom and I heard your dad let out a loud expletive. I would have gotten up and run to see what was happening but I had a big, plastic pump attached to my boob. A beat went by and then your father appeared, shirtless in his boxers. He turned around to show me a giant river of spit up running straight down his back. He returned to the bedroom to retrieve you and start clean up duty, my sympathies going with him.
Hardly another beat had gone by though before I heard him utter another ferocious-sounding series of words. What now? Well, in addition to spitting up down your father's bare back, you also decided to take a huge dump, the kind that spooges straight out of your diaper and onto your father's stomach as he's carrying you into the nursery.
While your dad changed your diaper and cleaned himself up I turned off the pump and put the milk in the fridge. After that I sat up with you in the nursery while your father went back to bed and we watched the cats jump in and out of the crib until you were sleepy again (just past 3AM, of course).
And now here we are, the next morning. You're nursing on my lap while I write this to you and when you're finished I'll do my newly-perfected bounce-and-sway around the house with you in my arms until you fall asleep.
5 weeks, gone by just like that, each day somehow harder and more beautiful than the one before it.
Love,
Mom