Despite my worries to the contrary, we have been able to keep Guy not only alive, but he appears to be thriving. I know - we were as surprised as you are. He's back to birth weight, and he puts out more diapers than I care to think about.
My biggest apprehension about parenthood was the simple challenge that we are required to care for this little squirmer 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And it is every bit as scary as I had thought, but it also seems to be getting less so. We are finding routines in the chaos, and learning Guy's cues for his needs.
For instance, a bleating goat-like cry means, "Dude, I'm a little peckish. But give me five minutes and I will suddenly believe I haven't eaten all week." Also, any quiet activity time in which his arms and legs are moving is only a precursor to a windmill-like moment of pure frenzy in which he will simultaneously dig his right index finger into his cornea and also scratch himself in 3 places with his left hand.
It has also become mandatory that anytime we use the best swaddler we have (a pre-fab swaddling blanket called a Swaddle Me, which has easy velcro closures for perfect swaddling every time), he will undoubtedly leak out of his diaper and all over it somewhere around 2-3:00 a.m.
He is a champ at cluster feeding, which means my nipples are about to fall off, they're so tired and sore. I finally resorted to using a pacifier after he's been at the breast for more than 90 minutes. I feel like a bad mom sometimes for doing it, but he can't be getting that much after 90 minutes, and my poor boobs need a break. And I have to think that he's there more for the comfort than for the nutrition at that point.
We just got back from a nice walk (I walked, he napped - he's a genius, but not THAT advanced) through the neighborhood, and he just realized (without opening his eyes) that his is neither outside nor does he have a boob in his mouth - the only two acceptable states at this juncture. The jig is up. I better get a boob ready, STAT.
- Jennifer
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