Sleepy dreams. Zia is a smiley baby. I know "they" say babies don't really smile at you until six weeks, but I swear this kid already gives us gummy grins. My mom saw her gazing at me with the sweetest smile (at only two weeks old!) and pronounced her extra special on the spot ;) Z especially likes to smile at P, which he adores :)
Yes, its a tad nerve wracking when he holds her... but they both seem so darn happy together...
These sweet smiles made her manic tendencies over the last two weeks even more perplexing. Just awoken and well tanked, she is calm, collected, amazingly alert and so, so sweet. Give her a tiny bit of time though... and everything falls a.p.a.r.t.
Which brings me to my point. You know, everyone promised me two things this pregnancy:
1. Labor would be shorter. (ummm, we went from 28 hours the first time to over 48 hours the second time...)
2. This baby would be chill (compared to the the first, that required constant bouncing for any semblance of peace.)
Ummmmmmmmmmmm. Which leads me to my life lesson. (Again.) The one I have repeatedly failed to truly learn:
Fuck Expectations. They will fuck you Every Time.
And so, as her already questionable caterwauling escalated as she hit her three week growth spurt this week, the truth descended. Expecting anything in life (the sweet in-arms babies all of my friends have had, you know that chill in their sling, nurse to sleep...) will break. you. down. I had planned on that baby. Chillaxing in my wrap, popping out to poo, slowly integrating into the family for the ease of P... And here was a baby that was requiring c.o.n.s.t.a.n.t. help finding a shred of contentment....
She wanted to nurse all. the. time. Now, I don't mean, like every two hours. I mean at 12, 12:15,, 12:45, 12:54... Then maybe she'd pass out an make it a whole hour. We tried our pinky finger a few times, thinking surely she wasn't hungry, she just likes to suck! (She was, erm, producing like a champ, so we knew there was, erm, intake.) Hell, we even tried a binky (which she seemed highly insulted by. Smart girl ;))
Obviously, not a lot gets accomplished when nursing with this sort of frequency. Especially when the nursing is accompanied by wailing and arching and sputtering and choking (rather than just peaceful, sling squatting and happy nibbles.) And then the sweet first born is running around with his ears covered. And you're covered in milk spray and tears (everyone's tears...) And your heart is breaking because your beautiful baby is just miserable.
But I'm slow. And maybe stubborn. I was going to have that simple sling baby. I would still parent my first. We would still go to the library. The walk would sooth her!
Um. NO. (The Bangles song streamed through my mind Monday as we stood in the rain, outside the library, with the screaming infant and the upset six year old and the exhausted mother....)
By Tuesday I called it quits. This wasn't just a growth spurt.
And so today we met with a lactation consultant (who, come to find out, is an unschooling mum!) I was hoping we had managed a bad latch and there was a brilliant fix. Maybe she just needed to grow a tad bit to keep up with my supply or get more practiced with a strong let-down...
Turns out Ms. Z, poor thing, is tongue tied. Top and bottom :( (For the breastfeeding novice, this means her frenulums are too tight and she can't move her tongue (and top lip) adequately to move the milk!
So, umm, she is actually always hungry. And by the grace of gawd I had been responding to all of her hunger cues rather than just assuming she was full of shit, so she has been chunking up appropriately. Granted, in very short, sad little blips. Because her mouth gets tuckered out trying to hang on. And she can't manage it when she gets a reeeal mouthful, so she has to stop for a break and then try again. In a few minutes. Which pisses her off. And then again a few minutes later. This makes for a tired and consistently hungry baby. Thus, all of (our) tears ;)
So, while I'm pretty darn bummed tonight that she is going to have to be clipped next week (cut on my perfect new baby! eeeeek!) I am over the moon excited to let her manic phase morph into the more smiley stuff her (momentarily) content self has hinted at. And I'd be lying if I didn't mention being a bit psyched for a solid(er) chunk of sleep ;) Hers, and mine :)
All set to venture out for a walk. (A total FAIL, by the way. But come next week after her procedure...:)
Phoenix has been beyond, well, just beyond through all of this. As I bounced my desperate daughter on the birthing ball to calm her yesterday, he astutely noticed the floor had gathered more items than a floor really requires. And he set to picking them up. And actually putting them away. Unrequested. He made us pancakes for breakfast the other morning when Zia couldn't sleep (or stop whimpering.) He sits on the couch, patiently waiting for me to read again after yet another spot of nursing. He fetches me anything, anytime I need it. And though he repeatedly says he hates the crying, he constantly coos at his sister, telling her she is precious, adorable, loved. I am filled with thanks, everyday, for his sweet heart. And filled with surprise. His expanded independence and expanding level of acceptance wasn't what I expected when we got pregnant.
But there's that expectations thing again ;)
As in, I expected labor to be much faster (and thereby easier;) this time. I also expected that I would be, gawd forbid it happen again, unable to handle what I went through the first time. Too old. Too out of shape :) And yet, this labor, 20 hours longer, with a flip-sided baby and blood loss, was much easier. As soon as I saw things weren't going as expected, I set aside those damn expectations and just rode the ride. At home, with Superman. I will always look back on that birth as beautiful.
I also expected this parenting bit to be hard. Real hard. Because it was so hard on E and I the first time. But I'm finding that expectation to be shit too (as most of them are...) It was so hard the first time because we weren't parents. We were partying, playing, free-wheeling non-parents. And the transition from that to parents was tough. Reeeeal tough.
But now, we're already parents. We have absolutely NO expectations of warm meals or long showers. Privacy or free time. Uninterrupted sleep or unsoiled clothing. This transition, from three to four, has been surprisingly peaceful, despite the screaming, tongue tied newborn. In fact, the last three weeks have been beautiful. Hard, sure, trying, sure, but unexpectedly beautiful.
So, while I expected to struggle with the lack of freedom etc, and for P to struggle to accept a sibling, that hasn't been what is true. I didn't expect to struggle nursing, or carrying my baby (she reeeeally hasn't taken to wraps or slings (oh my back!), unlike her brother, who wouldn't get out of one for the first three years...), and yet, that is where we are. Expectations, they'll make a fool of me, every time.
Now, I just have to fight one big expectation. That sweet Z's procedure will produce that peaceful baby I've always dreamed of parenting. While the lactation consultant promises a definite improvement post procedure, I don't want to get my wishes all up in a wad. But, true to my life thus far, I'm not having a lot of success setting this one aside... ;)
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