I started this sweater, about 12 hours before I went into labor, as a cute, cotton "thing the Kiddo could wear this Spring". (Details.) Just a few shoulder stitches and it will be finished, but based on the size it ended up, next Fall will probably be a better fit. Turns out that the 15 pound kid I thought I was having is, thankfully, a bit smaller.
Some other things I've learned in the past two weeks the Kiddo has been with us?
1. He really is a little alien being, completely learning about the world--including us--from scratch.
Sometime during my pregnancy, a friend told me that she was a little surprised that (and I'm paraphrasing) she didn't fall in love with her baby right away. It took her a little time to get to know him. I feel like I have the opposite problem.
I love him so much that it hurts a little. I used to think the saying, "Mothers wear their hearts on the outside of their body" was a stupid, gushy cliche. Not so much anymore.
But I think he's still considering us.
He's happy that we feed him and change him and hold him, of course. But he doesn't really seem to understand much beyond that. Maybe it's silly that I expected him to just know us--and I know he will soon--but it's surprised me.
2. Breastfeeding is hard.
I don't think that's something I was even prepared to hear before the Kid was born. It's not like people didn't try to tell me, but I just assumed that with enough gumption we'd make it work. I remember having the thought, "I'll keep trying until my nipples bleed if that's what it takes."
The funny thing is, I thought that was hyperbole.
The painful part is slowly working itself out, the milk supply may never. Funnily enough though, things actually got a lot better from the mama-not-going-crazy standpoint when a few people (the Kiddo's doctor among them) told me, "You're not screwing your kid up forever if you quit." Something about that made it all seem less desperately important.
We're taking it one day at a time, and generally getting as much breast milk in him as is possible without mom or baby being unhappy. And if nothing else, it is comforting for him. Even if I'm just a big 'ole pacifier, if it makes him happy, that's worth a lot.
3. New dads are hot. New moms, less so.
While I'm aware that this makes me sound like a vain twit, I was a pretty cute pregnant lady. For about 97% of my pregnancy, I at least felt all glowy and fruitful and "Oh look, she swallowed a wee basketball".
But now all my parts are in the wrong place. My boobs are huge and a bit saggy because I can't stand to wear a bra yet. My tummy feels loose and lumpy--like risen bread dough that needs to be kneaded into shape. And the stretch marks...even when I was younger I never had the body type to wear a bikini, but it was always at least a possibility. Like, maybe if I did crunches every night for a month, I could have toned up enough. Now I could run marathons and it wouldn't matter.
Of course, with enough long walks this Spring, my bits will start to firm up again. And in the meantime, I still have a hot husband. It's probably some deep-seated patriarchal response, but there's just something about a man holding a baby....
I can honestly say, before a week ago, I had never been peed on. Or vomitted on, come to think of it. The other night I had to change pajamas (his and mine) three times in one night. Granted, it's less funny at 3 a.m., but at a certain point you have to start laughing. (OK, so the projectile vomit was funnier because I wasn't the one holding him at the time, but the peeing thing is almost cute.)
5. It doesn't get old. Or, at least, it hasn't yet.
These past two weeks, I've been more tired than I've ever been in my life. Tired to my bones.
And scared. That he'll stop breathing. That someone at our favorite breakfast restaurant will accidentally drop hot coffee on his head. That aliens will snatch him from his basket while we're sleeping.
And even been a little bored. There are only so many movies I can stand to watch, and the weather has mostly been too crappy to go out.
But being his mom? Still pretty awesome.