Firsts

Late last week, Penelope's belly button finally healed, so we gave her her first real bath this weekend. She loved it. Just look at little froggy kicking around in there:

(video temporarily deleted to troubleshoot blog-- it will be back soon)

We were staying at my parents' house while they are on vacation, the house where I grew up. One of my earliest fond memories is of sitting in front of the fireplace between my parents, snug and secure, so it seemed fitting that Penelope's first fireplace experience would be in front of a fire in that same fireplace. She won't remember it, but I will remember it for her-- the dark night with rain beating harmoniously on the roof, the lovely glow of the flames on her round cheeks and deliciously up-tilted eyelids, and the cozy togetherness of my new family superimposed onto memories my own happy childhood.

Our weekend also contained a blustery walk on quaint country lanes, including a stopover to breastfeed while surrounded by old, gnarled orange trees in an overgrown orchard, and a second walk, this time in the rain under my brother's big old Van Gogh umbrella, with Peep looking up in adorable astonishment at the drops hitting the swirls of color on the fabric above us.

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Lest you think it was all idyllic, I should point out that we also faced some of the more grueling aspects of new parenthood (i.e., our weekend was only about 85% idyllic!). Penelope had two bad nights this weekend. Normally, she partially wakes up every couple hours throughout the night-- since we share a bed, I sense her rousing, offer her the breast before she is even fully awake, and nurse her (and myself) back to sleep within 10 minutes or so. Contrast that with Saturday night, during which she woke up every hour to hour and a half, crying, and requiring perhaps 40 minutes of rocking and shushing before settling back down again. Towards morning, we had our second ever mother-daughter tandem cry session. She was pretty gassy, leading Eric to comment in the morning that "we should be careful not to get her too close to the fire, or her little sleep sack could go up like the Hindenburg". I was laughing all day over that one.

Then on Sunday night, she fussed, cried, and screamed until 11:30 p.m., with me running through my toolbox of consoling strategies on an endless loop. She was consolable, but barely, and only for brief stretches would any one strategy work before I had to switch it up. At one point I thought to myself, "If anyone asks what parenting an infant is like, I'll tell them that it is 'more hours walking around your living room in the middle of the night with a baby on your shoulder than you ever thought possible.'" The plus side of this activity is the incredible softness of the back of her downy little head nuzzled against my cheeks and lips; the drawbacks are the fatigue in my hips and legs and the time bomb threat of her renewed cries. After several hours of this, I actually started counting down the minutes until morning: 400, 399, 398... But at 11:30 she was finally calm enough for me to put her into her swing, where she sat with her intense little eyes boring into the darkness for another half hour before she finally succumbed to sleep. She was so upset, it was heartbreaking that there was nothing I could do for her. 

The last time we went through an episode of crying jags was at around 3 weeks. She'll be 6 weeks on Wednesday, and the baby books all talk about a 3 week and a 6 week growth spurt, so we've been chalking her recent traumatic evenings up to that. It seems to help to have an explanation for her alarming behavior, even if we have no clue whether it is the right one. Perhaps when she's 18 and stealing cars to fund her heroin habit, Eric and I will look at each other and soothingly pronounce that "she's in a growth spurt." 

To borrow a quote from N, "The distinguishing mark of true adventures is that they are often not fun at all while they are actually happening" -K. S. Robinson. Apparently this is sometimes true even for Ordinary Adventures. Although, I would not say that even the up-all-night aspects of parenting aren't fun. They're just fun in a very intense, nightmarish way-- something like the enjoyment of watching really good horror movie, or hiking across the Sierras, or studying for your PhD qualifying exam. Or, actually, more like doing all three of these activities at the same time... But in this marvelous adventure, I get to wake up in the morning to the most beautiful little smile in the world, aimed just at me, and it is like a glorious ray of sunlight dazzling my whole life through, melting me to bits. 

A Day in the Life

The days are rolling by around here faster than I want them to, in a peaceful haze of Peep-enforced routine (times are of course approximate and vary by up to an hour or two by day):

4:00 - 7:00 AM: Penelope grunts and flails nearly continuously while Eric and I desperately try to pretend it will stop soon, in order to preserve our last vestiges sleep. This is mainly a delusion on our part, and once I was woken abruptly by a baby finger thrust into my nostril. In another line of defense, I frequently attempt to feed her during this time, in an attempt to knock her out. Unfortunately, she's too asleep to eat much, in spite of the ruckus she's making.

7:00: Get up and make tea with one hand while P coos adorably at me from the crook of my other arm. Feed P and put her in her swing, where she promptly falls into a deep and peacefully non-grunting, non-flailing sleep (I'd give her the stink-eye for this if she weren't so cute). Eric and I drink our tea together. It will be the only relaxed conversation together that we have all day.

8:00 - 9:00: Eric gets ready and leaves for work, while I read blogs and check email.

9:00 - 11:00: Short sleep and wake cycles, mainly awake, and in which wakeful periods are filled with activities such as her swing or bouncy chair, tummy time, and silly games such as "head, shoulders, knees and toes" (P always seems delightfully surprised when we return to her head during this game, although she must be far to young to have any idea what is going on). Yesterday during tummy time, she lifted her head quite high in the air for the first time, at least 45 degrees, with her weight balanced on her elbows! A nice milestone. I was so proud-- mainly she still barely lifts her head much at all, but lies there mouthing and drooling on her blanket.

11:00 - 1:00: More prolonged sleep period, in which I write a blog post or read a novel or take a blessed nap. I want to start doing some workout programs considering I still have over 20 lbs to lose (!!!), but tomorrow...

1:00 - 2:30: Mainly awake and more activities including at least a face wash for P, if not a full bath (I am also somewhat lax about bathing her regularly, which those of you who know me personally won't be surprised to hear. And P hates her face wash, thus proving herself to be my daughter).

2:30 - 3:30: A brief nap for P, during which I begin to gain some energy for the day and do some power cleaning.

3:30: P wakes up fussy, and I get her and myself dressed and ready to go on a walk.

4:00 - 6:00: P and I walk, with her in her baby carrier on my chest. Sometimes we walk along the beach, and other times we head downtown, where I get a smoothie and window shop or we hang out on the courthouse lawn. P is sometimes fussy on these walks, and seems to like or dislike particular stores. Yes to the used book store, No to the rare book store. Yes to the museum store, no to CVS. Ironically, it's a 'no' to both baby stores. We dawdle long enough to meet Eric at 5:30 when he gets off work, and all walk home together. If I can't walk with her due to weather, she is usually a bit fussy throughout this time period.

6:00 - 9:00: Major fuss-fest. I've talked enough about that. Poor Eric really only gets to see her at her worst during the week! Until recently this has been very manageable. Since the weekend, she's been a bit more inconsolable (hopefully not for much longer). Either way, she requires all our attention during this time.

9:00: Finally we sit down to dinner, by candlelight-- not because it's romantic, but because it's dim enough not to wake her as she snoozes lightly in her swing. Often the sweet sounds (not) of the vacuum cleaner accompany our meal.

10:00: Bedtime. Usually she goes quietly. Occasionally it takes 40 minutes of enforced rocking and shushing while she battles sleep like the devil.

12:00 or 1:00: Nighttime feeding #1

2:00 or 3:00: Nighttime feeding #2 (if we're really really lucky, we skip this one. Jackpot!)

4:00: Little Snorty flails again.

It's a pretty good routine, I have to say, with ample opportunity for me to relax and reflect, in a groggy sort of way. I especially appreciate these days as the horizon of my maternity leave begins to loom. May 13 is suddenly not so far away, and although I plan on easing back into work, the disruption of our schedule involved with heading to the office for a couple of hours (Peep in tow) is bound to introduce some new fuss into our cottony and cloistered little world.