Whew, ok, well, week one is over and we did...surprisingly? GREAT! Daddy (akak Doug) was surprised that there were no urgent phone calls. Although at this wtiting I'm tempted to call because all the wierd grunts and groans of little missy are FREAKING mommy out! Good lord peanut, what's your issue??
Yes, we made it through week one. I was TIRED, Doug more so. He has been getting up every night and doing the feeds with me (for me!) Eventiually, when she is a little bigger, we'll do them independent of each other but right now, while we are both building our confidence, it's great to have the support. I love love the days with her. I'm awake and can see her and be productive too. Not so keen on the night though. I get anxiety at 10pm! Anticipating bed time. There is something about hearing those little wheezes in the dark that strikes terror in my heart. "Is she choking? Is she breathing? Did she spit up?"
We have THE safest crib ever. Just a sheet. No bumpers, no stuffed animals, no extraneous padding. It's like Institutional Crib 101. And still. And yet. "Is she ok?"
I'm a master at nudging Daddy (aka Doug) in the back. "Go check her.."
Let's be honest though. Doug is FAR better at getting up. He has the patience of, well, I have no idea. A Saint? I don't even know any saints. But he's the one who gets up first. Then Mommy drags her happy ass to the mini-fridge, makes the bottle, and huffles her swayback cow belly and non-functioning, decorative only, can't produce any milk breasts back to bed - all the while groaning meaningless and empty sentiments like "do you want me to take her?? I can do it..." knowing full well that Doug's got it covered.
Sigh, we are livin LARGE people, livin large.
I - heart - Doug the Dad and Baby Ellie
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