Rosie is two weeks old today! Two weeks ago, right about now, I was hopped up on adrenalin, staring at her and wondering how in the world I just did what I did. Yesterday Justin went to work and came back telling me that his co-workers were just so impressed with the amount of labor and pushing I dealt with. I was honestly confused for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about. I think this is how the human race continues: willful and intentional amnesia about childbirth.
Rosie’s still dealing with the whole nights and days thing. I keep assuming it’ll work itself out, and some nights it does, and then the very next night she’ll be up every half hour to hour. I’m sure it’ll work out though. At least, I’m going to keep telling myself that.
She’s growing more alert every day when she is awake. She loves being on her changing table because she stares at the different colors of hats along the wall above it. She’s much less tolerant of the cold than Mitchell was, though. No fluctuation of temperature bothered him, but the minute I take a piece of clothing off of her, she starts screaming. It makes taking her weekly pictures a bit troublesome. But this is probably the last time you’ll hear me complain about my daughter not liking to be naked.
Look at her getting chunky! At least her diapers are staying on her now. Her legs and arms are getting so long that her pants and sleeves are too short, but she’s way too skinny for 0-3 months just yet. At least, I think she is. I haven’t tried yet. Maybe that’ll be our weekend project.
I’m definitely going to keep raving about how much Mitchell loves Rosie, because, as Justin pointed out, we can use this in a few years to point out that, once upon a time, they DID love each other and get along.
Mitchell constantly wants to hold her. He’s generally very serious about it, either talking to her or just sitting there looking very important. When I nurse her in the rocking chair, he sits in his rocking chair with “his baby” and rocks her (or attempts to…it turns out three generations using the same rocking chair may be pushing it…I need wood glue, stat!). When she cries, he runs over and puts his hand on her face or belly and says “ooooooh, baby” over and over again, trying to soothe her. It’s adorable. I love this kid. Both kids. Gah. I have kids. KIDS.
Look at that adorable hat Rosie’s sporting! Where’d I get it? Oh, just something I threw together while Mitchell was napping. That’s right, I made it. Sorry, kids, but you’re totally going to have to sneakily discard Mom’s homemade crap on the way to school someday.
So the new rule of this house is, don’t walk away from anything on the stove. Last night Mitchell made the pasta for our dinner, but he did it while I was standing right there. Today for lunch, I left Mitchell playing with his cars and ran upstairs for two seconds. Came back down, and he was proudly making lunch.
Rosalynn is a whole week old today. I can’t believe it’s been an entire week since she entered the world.
I’m crossing my fingers that her days and nights have sorted themselves out. Luckily she’s so darn cute in the daylight that the exhaustion doesn’t really bother me. She had a weight check yesterday and she’s already back up to birth weight! The nurse said that breastfed babies are only expected to gain one ounce per day and she’d gained five ounces in two days, which apparently made her suspicious so she had to ask three different times if I supplemented her feedings. She also felt the need to explain and give examples of what supplementing is. Yes, nurse, I know.
Look how chunky she’s looking!
I remember hearing, once upon a time, a tale of a baby who had their days and nights switched. I honestly thought the parent’s complaints were exaggerated. I mean, babies do nothing but sleep and eat anyway, so what does it matter if the schedule is switched?
Oi. I know now. Rosie was born at 11:03. She spent the typical hour or so awake, then crashed until about 8 that night, and then wanted to eat every half hour until the next morning, at which point she entered into a food coma until the next night. And there’s the pattern.
After five nights of this, plus the two nights in the hospital, I was sitting at over a week averaging about two or three hours of sleep per night. So on the fifth and sixth day of her life, I tormented the poor girl. Her days were filled with this:
And finally, on the sixth night, it worked! She only woke up three times last night! I’m knocking on wood all over the house that it wasn’t a fluke and she continues to sleep at night and be awake during the day.
Happy one week, Rosie!
I’m sure that many people, upon hearing that I undertook a VBAC and went through 40 hours of labor with 3.5 hours of very intense pushing to deliver a giant baby flipped the wrong direction, will wonder why. Why do it? Why didn’t I schedule a c-section and be done with it? Or take the so-many-times offered c-section?
This is why.
These are my babies, too. And after the first c-section, all I had to do was sit and nurse my only baby and my pain. It was perfect, really, because it was enforced one-on-one time with him, and I’m so thankful for that time because we have a great bond now. But that bond made me realize that I would find it absolutely impossible to adhere to the strict weight lifting limits or tolerate the strict off-limits policy on my belly. Because my other baby just couldn’t tolerate it.
The moment I walked in the door and Mitchell ran into my arms, I knew it was all worth it and I’d do it again. And later, when we had a rousing game of chase and tickle tickle, I found myself almost not minding the labor and delivery. And after juggling cuddling with Mitchell while nursing Rosie, I knew that this wasn’t just worth it, but necessary. I even overheard discussion downstairs of it probably being worth it.
Yes, I’m definitely in a lot less pain post-delivery than I was post-c-section, and that’s a selfish reason for wanting a VBAC, and I’m sure Rosie will benefit from being delivered VBAC, but mostly my decision for a VBAC was for Mitchell and, by extension, Justin. I can’t handle the thought of not picking him up and giving him a big hug. And a day without chasing each other around the house? Perish the thought. I still have two babies, and I never want either of them to question whether I have enough love to go around. I do. I know I do. And if I have to run myself ragged proving that to them, I will. Because the look on Mitchell’s face when I walked through the door melted my heart and made me realize that, in the end, their happiness is really my only goal. If I succeed there, I’ll consider my life a success.