Ravages

My daughter nurses, at times, like she's at war. She flails, grunts, kicks, grabs, scratches, pulls, pinches and ... My favourite ... bites and rears her head backwards. It's ... shall we say ... awkward.

The problem is not so much the pain, as now pulling close to three years of nursing has left the area somewhat deadened in feeling. It's the wear and tear. The Girls, they aren't so pretty as they once were.

Now I know this is inevitable with aging, baby or no. It's not like I was thinking I'd be blessed with youth forever.

But someday, I imagine, my daughter will happen upon me in my naked form and ask why they are "like that" and I'm not sure I'll be able to resist telling her "because nursing you was like trying to nurse a wolverine". Lest she never attempt herself to provide me with grandchildren.

Also

I do confess that there are a few things about the three month mark I am relieved about:

1 hitting three months gets her out of the MOST vulnerable stage of babyhood. She's had her first vaccinations and now getting exposed to colds etc is less of a big deal. Oh, still not a good thing. But there's a big difference between a three week old baby with a mild fever and a four month old with same.

2 although we're not completely free and clear, hitting three months means we're almost out of the danger zone of the dreaded c-word: colic. She could still get fussier, but it's less likely now. I keep my fingers still crossed all the same though ....

Three Months

As of today, The Girl is three months old and we have officially survived the 90 day bootcamp of newborn baby.

I remember getting to this point with The Boy and breathing a sigh of relief and feeling terribly proud etc etc. It will all get easier now!

But the curse, if you will, of second time parenting is that I know that there's no magic bullet of easiness. No sighs of relief this time around. Parenting is still relentless.

On the flip side, don't get me wrong, I think it's easier the second time. While I know there's no magic bullet of easy, I do know what the coming months will bring: more smiles, more laughing, more cooing, an altogether more interactive child. The time between six months and two years is a wonderful time to parent. She's already started grasping toys and eating them; I'm so looking forward to her first crawling, first words, first steps.

And I might also add that another (good) reason I'm not breathing a sigh of relief is that new babyhood was easier the second time around. Not to say it was easy, per se. But having your first child completely upsets your world, and nothing is ever the same again. This time around, knowing what was coming, it wasn't so much of a shock. Instead of worrying about every little thing, second guessing all my parenting decisions, I have the leisure to enjoy her more. She's not on a schedule? Meh. Lots can change in nine months, don't worry about it. She hasn't pooped today? Meh, she's eating and peeing and not upset, it's nothing. She won't sleep and is fussy? That's ok, I know what to try and she will sleep eventually.

(not to say sometimes I'm not crazy. Just a lot less so than last time.)

So if I'm not breathing a sigh of relief today, it's just because the last few months weren't as bad as I feared, and I know the coming months will be neither awful nor blissful. There will be days I cry because I'm so overwhelmed; there will be days I get all the laundry done and I clean the kitchen and put away toys and go for walks and entertain both my children.

In short: it's just life.

(but can I just add for the record: mah baybee!!! Where has the time gone!! Three months!!! She'll be off to college before I know it!! Etc etc.)

Free hands!

Unlike my son, my daughter as an infant will actually acquiesce to being put down. It's astonishing to me. I go so far as to say that I think she actually prefers being on her own every once in a while. While I was pregnant I was offered a floor play mat for infants and I (apparently thinking my two children would be exactly the same) declined it, so I took myself to the consignment store yesterday and bought the cheapest one I could find -- still not believing she would take to it.

(And also realizing it would within mere moments be covered in cat hair and descended upon by four-year-old boy. Which was another reason I declined the offered hand-me-down.)

She. Loves. It.

Oh, she's not content to lie there all day, but I am typing this post on the computer instead of one-handed (and ineptly) at the iPhone. Whee!!

In light of this and the fact that it's hot, and she dislikes being hot and therefore close baby carriers have become a love/hate situation, I hauled, this morning, our stroller out of storage. I cleaned it up a little, checked it over, and placed her in it because I needed a ton of stuff at the drug store and MAN, is that little stroller basket easier than carrying back diapers, wipes, and assorted baby goods along with a 14 pound baby.

She lasted 1.5 blocks before bursting into terrified tears. And this from a baby who actually rarely cries.

At least some things don't change, I guess. And carrying a baby while pushing a stroller laden with goods is still easier than carrying them.

It's true what they say

Morning comes early these days. 6:30 or so The Boy wakes. I buy another half hour with iPhone bribery (bad Mommy!) and then The Girl wakes by seven. These recent nights she wakes only twice, usually 3 ish and 5 ish, so I'm often half awake at 6:30 anyway. I try to sleep by 10 pm most nights, earlier if I can.

This morning was no different, except I got us out of the house. He's always in a better mood if you get him out of the house, but convincing him is hard. So after breakfast of mostly strawberries and much cajoling ... Not to mention infant feeding, dressing, soothing, etc. ... Out we went.

There's a local park, near the rec centre, he wanted to go to. Already at not quite 9am there are three softball games in full swing. (heh) There is also, crucially, a coffee shop.

Yes.

Coffee.

I've been a tea totaller for years. I like coffee. Like it a lot. But it hits me like a ton of bricks, so I prefer the more mellow jolt of tea.

But life, these days, hits like a ton of bricks too. Never ending infant care. House work. Endless laundry. Cooking. Diapers. Night wakings and early mornings. It's not bad. I'm actually content, very content, with life these days. I have a purpose and there's something very satisfying about that.

But it is true what they say: after the second, you get a coffee machine.

OTOH

The Girl continues to be a bit grumpy and as comfy as my rocker is, my back aches after several hours in it. A deep ache, unrelieved by subtle shifts in position that I attempt. I miss going out. I miss folded laundry. I miss doing other things.

But I also realize that this is one of the most important and wonderful things I will ever do. My daughter knows I am there for her 100%. She finds comfort in the world as she gets to know it, and comfort with me.

And for myself, I know I will never get these days back. I kiss her sleepy head, smooth her hair, stroke her limbs. I feel her soft skin and brush my lips over her forehead, marveling at the feel of it. This is it, the last one. I can't believe she's almost three months old already, and I know the coming months will speed by just as quickly. And I'm still overwhelmed by her beauty, and by my love for her.

And this is why I keep rocking for hours, despite the bone-deep ache. I would do anything for her, and holding her close is a small piece of heaven.

Isolation

I am a person comfortable with being alone. I like it; some days I crave it as much as any other life-giving substance, as time alone is as necessary to me as air and water.

But I confess that sometimes, these days, I feel lonely. I miss adult companionship, someone to talk to. My daughter is fussy, so I am more home-bound than I would like, and while I'm getting to read more, the tiny part of me that enjoys socializing misses people.

Of course, in a year I'll be bemoaning my lack of personal time. It's feast or famine, of course.