So, you may be asking yourself why a woman who wants to write a baby blog about newborns is starting it when her kid is 10 weeks old. You may specifically want to ask me, where did the last 70 days go? I asked myself that question this morning…and yesterday, I asked where the last 69 days went…and the day before, you get the picture. Let me break it down for you.
The first 50 hours are spent in the hospital. Elle “roomed in” which means that the baby girl was next to me in her Tupperware (the rolling plastic bassinet) 24 hours a day. They do give you a pen and pad in the hospital, but you have to write down things like when she ate, for how long, when she pooped or peeped and, this is the weird part, when I pooped or peeped…I didn’t poop. I had to measure the volume of my urine and dutifully report it to the nurses. Gross. So for the first 2 days, I was too busy measuring bodily fluids and counting diapers to write. Sorry.
Move on to the next 10 days or so. I was so programmed to count her diapers and write down every time she ate, that I kept doing it. I finally asked my cousin when you can stop and she was like, “probably anytime”. But really, I wanted to hear that from a medical professional who was simultaneously telling me my kid was just fine.
We took about a thousand pictures that first 2 weeks. I put them in a book. It might be overkill, but I was postpartum…many things I did made very little sense.
By then I started walking, which means you have to get her dressed and clean enough to leave the four walls that seem like a prison.
I spent the next few weeks feeding on demand (she is still exclusively breast fed- EBF- so she eats when she wants) and changing diapers on demand. I probably strung together about one and a half hours sleep consecutive at any given time. I didn’t think much about writing…except thank you cards. I got manic about that.
Then she got a little fun. I started dressing her up, putting her in all the outfits that people bought her to take a picture. Red pants, cherry print shirt, red band on her head. Click. Pink kitten pants, pink polka dot onesie, white sweater…click! Click! Flash! Click.
Poor kid. I hope they don’t discover in 22 years that the constant flashing of a digital camera impaired her ability to read or emote.
Really, I can’t account for much more time than that. There is no excuse. I am a bad blogger for not starting this earlier. Next week I will talk to my therapist about it and hopefully we can all move on from here.