I am in complete shock that it has been an entire month since Wyatt was born. One month ago I was laying nearly naked (seriously, you'd think they could come up with something a little more dignified than an open-backed gown with two ginormous slits down the front (for easy access to the boobies). I mean honestly people, I might as well have thrown on a paper bag.) on the hospital bed, sore and in disbelief that finally he was here. As in, no longer curled up on top of my bladder. People always tell you it goes quickly, but I wasn't prepared for how quickly. I don't know if it's the lack of sleep or just the all encompassing effect of caring for your baby, but it feels like it's been mere days. Maybe a couple weeks, tops.
And while I'm already a little sad that he's getting bigger, I'm insanely grateful to be out of those first few days when an hours sleep put me over the moon. I think the worst night we had was the night we brought him home, and after that it's been fairly manageable. I was going on my third night of no sleep, and feeding every hour or so. During one of the times that I was awake that night I left Wyatt in his cradle so that I could go to the bathroom, no small task when you've just given birth. Wyatt started to cry, and even though Caleb was asleep, I thought surely he'd hear his son crying.
But no.
By the time I got back to the room the crying was near screaming and I found Caleb dead asleep facing the opposite direction. I immediately burst into tears, half mad and half jealous. How in the world could he be sleeping through this when I wake up at every single little grunt?!
Around 7 am Caleb finally woke up and I was losing it. I was convinced that Wyatt wasn't getting enough to eat which made me feel terrible and worthless. I handed him over and told Caleb that he needed to give him one of those pre-made bottles they'd sent us home with. He took Wyatt into the nursery and I collapsed onto the bed and slept for two hours.
It was like I'd had my entire body recharged, two hours felt like an eternity.
The next morning around 5 am Wyatt woke up a little bit before it was time to feed him, and I picked him up and laid down on my side in bed with him, thinking I'd just lie there a minute until it was time, and the next thing I knew it was almost 7 and I was waking up on my own. For a minute I lay there trying to figure out why I was in bed with Wyatt and then panicked because he'd gone so long with out eating. I sat up and it became very apparent - my milk had come in. Big time.
It made all the difference in the world, and he soon started eating every three and four hours, which has been the schedule ever since.
Until last week, of course.
Sunday night I was changing him and noticed that his poo was greenish. After spending a good half hour on the internet I decided that it was due to me having what they call an oversupply, a nice word that pretty much means my boobs are milk machines. Wyatt wasn't eating very long on either side, which meant he wasn't getting enough hindmilk. You can read about it here. I decided to go with their suggestion, and only feed him on one side each time, instead of switching back and forth. And it worked.
And then a few days passed and suddenly he wasn't sleeping during the day. Like, at all. He'd wake up at 9 or 10 for a feeding, and then after that he'd be up until 6 or 7, with maybe only one or two little cat naps in between. I was at my wits end, I knew he was tired but he couldn't stay asleep. He also wanted to eat every two hours, and for two days I did nothing but feed him and soothe him. On the third morning I had an epiphany, and scrambled for the laptop to look up the article again. Reading more carefully, I found that you can correct your problem in just a few days, instead of a week or so like I'd been thinking.
My baby was hungry, people. That's it.
I immediately went back to feeding on both sides and he went back to sleeping. I felt so incredibly stupid and terrible.
So.
Note to self and anyone else who's having their first: read up on breast feeding. I didn't, assuming I'd just figure it out and that what I didn't know would be told / taught to me at the hospital. Which was partially true, and it's not rocket science, but there are a lot of little things that I've learned that would have been so helpful to know beforehand.
Like what to do when your milk comes in and then regulates itself again, and suddenly your baby seems to "forget" how to eat. One morning I was trying to feed him but he wouldn't latch on. He was hungry, that was apparent by his crying, and I had no idea what I was doing wrong. My mom, thankfully, popped her head in the door and gave me a suggestion and in two seconds he was content and eating.
Do your homework.
Amen.
Enough of the supposed doom and gloom, th0se moments were fleeting, and for the most part this month has been spent cooing and cuddling and just staring in awe at our little boy. He is a good baby, fussing only when he's hungry or perhaps when I have the audacity to wipe his warm little bum with a cold wipe.
He loves to cuddle and sleeps much better if he's laying on your chest or curled up in the car seat.
He loves to be rocked, and Caleb loves to rock him.
I love being a mom. I really do, more so than I thought I would, and I thought I would love it a lot. I don't know about anyone else, but before I had him there were several times when I doubted though, when I worried that I would secretly wish to be childless again. When things are easy and it's just the two of us. I have a hard time with things when they're final, I like having my options open. And having a baby is probably one of the most "final" things you could do. So I was just a little bit worried. It hasn't happened, if there is anyone out there wondering the same thing. I love him so much, and love spending the day with him even though we do the same things. Feed, change, feed, change entire outfit, feed, feed, feed, feed, feed. I love it all. It's amazing how immediate it is, the love. Everything changes, and in a good way.
I wasn't prepared to not want to ever leave him. Like, ever. Like, I'm thinking about when we 'll go to see Wicked in early February, the first time I know that we can't have him with us, and I get anxious about leaving him. I know this will change, and I'm hoping it does before then.
I just love him.
He's starting to coo and make noises, and I love hearing him "talk". I've become one of those moms, I know, "My baby! He's talking! Look at how amazing!!"
It happens, I guess.
(Please note the brown pants and navy socks. This is what happens when you go through several outfits a day. The items not soaked in baby pee stay on, regardless...)
This face hurts my heart.
And oh, does he love that binki. And oh, do I love to listen to him furiously suck on it. Like it's his life force.
Caleb isn't quite as sympathetic...
