Kate at one week
Yesterday morning when I was woken at 3am by a hungry baby, I looked at the clock and realized it was exactly one week to the hour after I had woken up at 3am in labor. It’s been a very long and short week at the same time, and I feel like if I don’t write down some of what it’s been like, I’ll never be able to remember once the sleep deprivation finally melts my brain.
Her hair is very dark, with a long fringe in back. She has a fine coating of dark body hair as well. I’m contemplating gluing on a pair of tiny fangs and selling her picture to the tabloids as the Wolf Baby of Indiana. Or posibly Gorilla Girl of the Midwest, since she has very long fingers and toes. We have to pay for college somehow, you know.
Her eyes are a dark greyish-blue that will no doubt change in the next few months, probably to brown. Since her father has not merely two brown-eyed parents but four brown-eyed grandparents, I accepted a long time ago that the likelihood of a baby of ours getting my blue eyes was pretty low.
We’re seeing her eyes more often these days. She actually had a couple brief quiet and alert periods yesterday that didn’t involve getting fed. Of course, they were mostly grace periods where Her Highness was merely giving us more time to wise up and feed her before she got down to complaining about it, but it’s progress. On the day she was born, about three hours after I was finally able to hold her, I was on the phone with my mother trying to describe her and realized that I had no idea what color her eyes were. She had either been crying or asleep for the entire time.
She’s a proponent of the slow food movement. Why treat eating so shabbily by getting down to business right away and finishing quickly when you could stretch it out for hours at a time? No meal is complete without making sure the nipple is thoroughly tasted first and compared to the taste of your fist a few times to make sure it’s really worth it before latching on. And it’s absolutely de rigeur to flail about with the arms as well, pulling the nipple out once it’s in her mouth. This is all exhausting, of course, so it’s mandatory to nap for a while between eating. Only barbarians eat their meals all at once; true connoisseurs snack over the course of hours.
She is absolutely the cutest thing in the world in her Winnie the Pooh nightgown. Of course, her current outfit of a pink onesie, her first gender-specific piece of clothing courtesy of her aunt, is pretty darn cute too. I’m actually hard-pressed to think of a time when she’s not unbearably cute, even in full-on screaming mode. Her lower lip pouts out so adorably when she’s trying to scream loud enough to peel the paint off the walls.
Her hair is very dark, with a long fringe in back. She has a fine coating of dark body hair as well. I’m contemplating gluing on a pair of tiny fangs and selling her picture to the tabloids as the Wolf Baby of Indiana. Or posibly Gorilla Girl of the Midwest, since she has very long fingers and toes. We have to pay for college somehow, you know.
Her eyes are a dark greyish-blue that will no doubt change in the next few months, probably to brown. Since her father has not merely two brown-eyed parents but four brown-eyed grandparents, I accepted a long time ago that the likelihood of a baby of ours getting my blue eyes was pretty low.
We’re seeing her eyes more often these days. She actually had a couple brief quiet and alert periods yesterday that didn’t involve getting fed. Of course, they were mostly grace periods where Her Highness was merely giving us more time to wise up and feed her before she got down to complaining about it, but it’s progress. On the day she was born, about three hours after I was finally able to hold her, I was on the phone with my mother trying to describe her and realized that I had no idea what color her eyes were. She had either been crying or asleep for the entire time.
She’s a proponent of the slow food movement. Why treat eating so shabbily by getting down to business right away and finishing quickly when you could stretch it out for hours at a time? No meal is complete without making sure the nipple is thoroughly tasted first and compared to the taste of your fist a few times to make sure it’s really worth it before latching on. And it’s absolutely de rigeur to flail about with the arms as well, pulling the nipple out once it’s in her mouth. This is all exhausting, of course, so it’s mandatory to nap for a while between eating. Only barbarians eat their meals all at once; true connoisseurs snack over the course of hours.
She is absolutely the cutest thing in the world in her Winnie the Pooh nightgown. Of course, her current outfit of a pink onesie, her first gender-specific piece of clothing courtesy of her aunt, is pretty darn cute too. I’m actually hard-pressed to think of a time when she’s not unbearably cute, even in full-on screaming mode. Her lower lip pouts out so adorably when she’s trying to scream loud enough to peel the paint off the walls.
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