Baby's All Growns Up

Yesterday was Harlow's magical six week mark, a day in my mind that had become synonymous with Christmas, the White Sale and rainbows giving up their pots of gold. My brain trust of moms, the ones I call my collective crystal ball for gazing into Harlow's future, told me to wait for six weeks, because then everything gets easier. Like magic. Now don't get me wrong. Harlow is a dream baby - esp after some of the horror stories I heard over at Mothersville - but she's still a baby. One that doesn't come with a manual, so What to Expect will have to suffice. Like my moms, WTE says that I should be feeling lots more comfortable now. I believe "diapering one handed" and a "pro at burping baby" was among the accomplishments listed. Paving the way for your child's crippling claustrophobia from severe onesie bungling is not. (And why has no one invented the velcro onesie yet??)

This week brought lots of explosives - explosive diarhhea that blew out her diaper. Explosive pee that stained our sheets 2 nights in a row. Explosive spit up that could have tagged the cat 10 feet away. She hadn't been truly hard before, but this week was getting a little trying. So it was with a little trepidation that I woke on the big 6 week mark. I didn't feel any different. Harlow didn't seem any different. Except when we came back from our walk and she was howling at the gods for depriving her of food, I wasn't AS stressed as normal. When her spit up flowed like lava through the canyon that is my cleavage, I didn't mind it as much. And then something - well, kinda like magic happened. She smiled. A lot. repeatedly. She giggled. She said "la" and I about fell over. Her first syllable. And WTE says she's only supposed to be on vowel sounds. Walking her around, she kept her head up on her own - for a few seconds before collapsing - but STILL. Suddenly my six week old baby seemed like a real baby, one fascinated with her mom even with her history of trying to smother her with onesies. And I'm ok with still being inept at some things. Five weeks ago I was afraid to feed her if it didn't seem to jive with her "schedule." Now I understand her hungry cries and feed her, and sometimes feed her when I don't understand. Five weeks ago I played her father's songs on Itunes for her lullaby. Now I makeup songs about bicycles when I pump her legs and don't care how terrible I sound. Two weeks ago I thought I was gorging my increasingly plump daughter and thought something was wrong with my milk. Now I feel blessed I make enough milk to feed an army. Five weeks ago I thought this was easier than I thought. Now I know better, and that knowledge makes me happy.

I stil have no idea what I'm doing, and the most important six week lesson I've learned is that it is just fine.