October 27, 2008
Ezra is a good baby.
He cries when he is hungry (a sweet, braying, lamb-ish sort of cry), when he wants to be held (which is pretty much all the time, thank God for the half a dozen or so slings I purchased in string of neurotic fits, although he'd probably be just as happy slung around my torso in a Thomas the Tank Engine bedsheet), and when he's naked on his back during diaper changes with his limbs madly flailing wot wot halp halp mayday MAYDAY!
He spends more and more time each day in a state of quiet, awestruck alert, looking around with his eyes wide, the corners of his mouth just starting to dance around the idea of a smile, giving us a peek at what we think might be some dimples.
He eats every two hours during the day -- a frustrating bit of math, as he takes at least a half hour to eat, then it's 10 minutes of pumping, a diaper change, a new outfit, a scrubbing of the pump parts, maybe time to pee and retrieve my cup of room temperature coffee from wherever I left it, and then...huh. Time to nurse again. Every free minute is a luxury -- if you asked me what I'd do with a morning to myself I'd say that I would eat an English muffin as TWO SEPARATE HALVES, MY GOD, instead of mashing it sandwich-like into my mouth in as few bites as possible during the minute and a half it takes to sterilize the breast pump. But hey, he eats, and he eats well.
And he sleeps, as little sleepy newborns are wont to do. We've had two nights of solid, uninterrupted sleep, though the norm usually involves one brief waking around 3 am for the briefest of nursing sessions and then several more hours of silence until it's time to wake up slightly late and scramble to get Noah to school on time.
Yes, Ezra is a very good baby.
But of course, he is a BABY, and therefore prone to changing the rules on you at any point in time, particularly in the late hours of the evening, and maybe again in the wee hours of the morning, and all the hours in between, and I guess that explains why I brushed my teeth with face wash this morning and only barely noticed.
Next up, the old "jigger of pumped breastmilk in my coffee" trick.