Recordkeeping

I can't tell you how many times during the day I think of good things to blog about. I even work out some of the wording in my head during these times. When I finally get a chance to sit down at the computer for awhile, I always think "I should blog now" but struggle to remember any of the stuff I meant to share. It's sad. What's wrong with me? I really want to record some of these things for posterity.

We are so close to a purposeful smile around these parts. From the baby, I mean. Micah and I smile purposefully quite often, as there is an increasingly more adorable baby in our midst. Her face is just so perfectly sculpted. Her smell is a tantalizing mixture of sweet milk and clean diaper, with hints of baby powder and baby detergent. Her cheeks smell the best. Where was I before? Oh right, the smiling. This morning I swear she meant to smile when she felt her ass hit the vibrating bouncy chair after finishing a nice morning breast. Dude, my face is totally going to melt off when she actually smiles at me.

She has many hilarious expressions, but I am particularly fond of the wide-eyed, "o" mouth look, like she isn't sure if she's excited or terrified. Probably both. She likes to watch my mouth as I make exaggerated but quiet popping noises. I also cluck. I like it when she watches me. She watches me all the time now.

Micah plays music for her. Yesterday he serenaded her with a collection of classical favorites, and the day before that it was Robert Plant. Today is his first day back at work in a week because of inclement weather and the holiday, and I miss him. It was awesome to have him home. I lost all sense of my normal routine, which is a good thing. I got to do things like take the dog to the dog park and go to Target by myself. I'm getting better at trusting them alone together. It's not that Micah isn't capable, it's that I'm just being paranoid. I always find her content when I come home, and that's all that matters. Even if she screamed her cherubic little head off while I was gone, he was able to make it go away and that's what matters.

Making it go away is an interesting task. There is definitely a checklist to consider when dealing with a screaming baby. Several nights this week Sasha was inconsolable. It totally sucks when it happens. Micah handles it better than I do, but passively. He wants to just let her cry for a bit to "get it out." I get increasingly upset as the baby does. Even though I know she's most likely very tired and that Micah is probably right, sometimes I have to plunk her in the bouncy seat and walk away. Let Micah listen to her, since he's so at peace with it.

Speaking of the bouncy chair, it is the sole reason for my sanity lately. Sasha's love for this chair knows no bounds.

She spends a lot of time in this chair, which I feel sort of guilty about. We get a good amount of body bonding when she's nursing, but she pretty much hates being in any position longer than a minute or two, which makes it hard to cuddle and hold her for long periods of time. However, she will sit in the bouncy chair for hours, which now vibrates because I finally remembered to purchase those blasted D batteries. I try to tell myself that she won't even remember being this young, that she is tended to when she cries, and that the most important thing is that she is loved immensely, warm, dry, and fed. But what will I do when she's too big for this chair? My mom assures me she'll be too busy with crawling, toys, and other baby things by the time that happens. It's kind of intimidating to have a child care professional for a mother. While she's a great giver of advice, I'm afraid to look like I need that advice. I want to do this well without her intervention. I felt like she might judge me for using that chair so much, but all it took was one evening of babysitting for my mom to realize the power of the bouncy chair. There is no judging. In fact, because my brother and I were adopted at five or six months old, my mom has never actually lived with a newborn. She readily accepts advice I give about how to make the baby happy.

My new mission is to update this blog every Wednesday, marking another week in the life of the babe and putting some structure to the disarray. Crap, the baby just woke up and realized she's not bouncing anymore.

Dude. This is quite the experience.

Went out for a couple drinks last night and I was disappointed. Not in the company or the atmosphere, but the general lack of excitement I thought I'd surely feel. The alcohol tasted funny, and I wonder if the past ten teetotaling months have changed my tastes that much. Maybe I should have eased back in with a beer instead of a mojito. When half the drink was gone I just felt tired and bit distracted as I wondered how Micah and the baby were doing without me. Though when I am with her and she is inconsolably crying and I feel like strapping her safely in her bouncy seat and driving far, far away, when I am far, far away the thought of her crying like that makes my tits ache.

All the little ways this baby has changed my life queue up in a chaotic line and suddenly I find myself needing a map for the simplest of tasks. I shampooed twice in the shower the other day. Right now Micah is singing to the baby. For every shitastic episode of whatever, there is a moment of complete, blissful clarity. This is our baby. She tickles every fancy and the fancies are working overtime to keep me sane.

Another thing keeping me sane is the Anne Lamott book I'm reading. I find myself putting it down a lot, it's so good. I want to savor it. It's about her son's first year of life, sort of a journal, and I find it so spot on. Even though I know I'm not the first mother to ever exist, it surely feels like it sometimes. And other moms felt it to! I'm not totally effing crazy! Anne did this as a single mom with a very colicky baby, so the fact that I have a loving husband and a decently unfussy baby makes me feel like I can do this. Then I open a card from my parents that they've sent through the mail. It basically says we know it's hard and we think you're doing great and I'm sucking back tears. These hormones, y'all. I'm pretty sure motherhood renders you a sniffling delicato (that's not a word, but I'm feeling creative) no matter how you may object. Because normally? Hallmark sentiments don't knock me in the emotional nuts.

I suddenly want my hair to be long, long, long. At least there's that. Don't most moms want to cut it all off? That's the cliche. The mom cut. Fuck that. I'm a rebel, right? Sadly not, actually, but I like to pretend sometimes.

Baby accomplishments:
-Squawking in a very cry-like manner, but the cry never comes. It's hilarious. Testing vocal chords, I assume.
-Very good at clenching legs together while diaper is being affixed, rendering completion impossible.
-Makes very nice round "o" with mouth. Cherubic.
-Sleeps in any position, including Snapped My Neck and Look How My Arm Can Bend.
-Chortling is at an all time high. While nipple nears face, baby frantically bobs her head back and forth, mouth agape, grunting from the depths of her belly. Notice how this makes Mommy laugh and forget that poopsplosion of a diaper she just handled. Barely.
-Notices things. Notices she's alone. Notices the dog. Notices when the bouncing stops, which is simply not acceptable.

She's one month old today.

maybe it's time to change the header

I can tell this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. Duh, right? The many hours I spent wondering how it would be when Sasha got here did nothing to prepare me. The fucked up thing is that I know it's only going to get harder. Don't get me wrong, she makes my heart weep and bleed and sing and swoon. She's only two weeks old, which boggles my mind. I feel like we've had her for months.

I haven't slept in my bed in what seems like months. Sasha and I live in the living room. We do this because Micah actually has to get up and expend a huge amount of energy every day. He's breadwinning, after all. The baby isn't terribly fussy; whatever is getting her Pampers in a twist is usually on this list: hungry, wet, cold, or on the verge of sleep so just hold me close and bounce me, mama. But she does cry, so I try to keep the bothering to a minimum. Though I must admit the other night Micah woke around 2am to find me and the baby sobbing in the kitchen. He wisked her away and calmed the storm. I'm doing okay, but the lack of sleep thing is definitely getting to me. Breastfeeding is glorious for many reasons, but I just can't help but feel a little bitter that I'm the only one who can feed her. So I've started pumping milk. I bought a used breastpump awhile ago, kind of knowing that I might like some time to myself and a pump could provide that for me. I have never said I'm not a selfish person. I am. That's what scares me most about being a parent now.

I just want to sleep for eight hours in my bed. Is that too much to ask? The physical space between Micah and myself is starting to spread it's ugly tentacles. I have some thoughts that go like this: good lord, you have NO IDEA how hard this is, DUDE. It's hard not to be a little bitter. It's hard to be the primary provider. It's just hard, I guess.

I think the learning curve for men is a little different. Because they tend to not be the primary love-giver, it takes longer to figure out where they fit into the big picture. I try not to stand over his shoulder when he changes diapies (oh yeah, that's what we call 'em, shoot me now) and I try not to wisk her away when he's trying to sooth her and it ain't working. I want him to figure it out. He absolutely adores her, but he hasn't had to commit to her like I have. It's okay, though. It's a job. It just happens to be a 24-hour job, which is the root of the problem. I just don't get a break. The breast pump has given me new hope. I'm starting a collection of milk in the fridge because Micah volunteered to take care of her all day one day this weekend so I can sleep. Now let's just hope I can actually sleep. See, my body still thinks sleeping is for night. No matter how tired I am, I cannot sleep at 10am when Sasha slips into a nice three hour nap. Yesterday I even turned off the tv, locked the dog outside, and took the largest recommended dose of Percocet. Sasha was secure in her bouncy chair. Check, check, check. Then I laid there for two hours unable to sleep. If that's not infuriating.

Fuck, you guys. I'm only sixteen days into this. It's messed up to think that I can't fuck up or quit or take her back. Nothing could have prepared me.

And now I'll stop being so fucking negative and tell you about my amazing daughter.

She's gorgeous. I could stare at her for hours. Her eyelashes are decidedly lighter than the hair on her head, which makes me think she could be on the blonder side one day. Her eyes have lightened a bit from the steely blue-gray they were at birth. It will be interesting to see if she gets the orange ring around her pupils, as Micah and I both have those.

She makes unstinky poop. Cannot get over this.

She makes the most adorable noises. Sometimes she sounds like a grumpy old man, other times like a baby dolphin. When she's about to hone in on my nipple she chortles like a little chipmunk. Do chipmunks chortle? I bet they do.

Sometimes I catch her smiling even though I'm pretty sure she has no idea she's smiling. I think babies must be born with every facial expression available, they just have to learn when to use them. But seeing her smile is the sweetest thing ever, and mostly because it's a glimpse into how it will be in a few months, when we tickle her and she actually engages and acknowledges us. Arguably the most adorable thing I can imagine. I can't wait to hear her laugh.

Her face has filled out and her head is definitely bigger. Everything is probably bigger, I just don't notice much other than her head because that's what I stare at.

She's perfect. I know that's an unoriginal thought for a new mom to have, but if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that every cheesy parenting cliche is unavoidably true. She's perfect.