Breathing

Yesterday was quiet. The Nurse Practitioner said Sprout was just perfect, excepting that she'd lost another ounce and is now down to 7 pounds, five ounces. It is normal for babies to lose a bit of weight after birth, and she'll gain it back fairly quickly, but we'll be a little more proactive about waking and feeding her during the day. I'm still inclined to let her have her six or seven hours at night, though. Yep, selfish, me...and having gone through this same thing with Bird, I know she'll be fine.

Speaking of Bird, Gypsy borrowed the Evil Genius for the afternoon, took him to the park and let him run wild with her son. He came home a little less Whirling-Dervish-y than usual. A little. Whew.

I was hurting a bit all day...partly healing and partly because maybe I am trying to jump back into what passes for normalcy around here a bit too soon. I loathe being couch/bed bound. I don't like constantly asking Someone to fill my water cup or fix dinner or whatever. He's marvelous about it, and actually chastised me for not asking him to do more...but it flies against my nature and I'm used to being the care giver, not the care receiver. I am used to hiding my hurt and soldiering on, to ignoring my needs in favor of meeting the needs of others. No, no, I'm not into being a martyr...mostly, I'd just rather get on with life...in my experience, folks mollycoddle when it isn't wanted, and I'd just as soon focus on something else until I'm better.

The doctor told me I shouldn't do anything but feed Sprout and rest for at least two weeks before gradually becoming active again. Hah! Two weeks? I can't make it two days...but I have refrained from attempting laundry or sweeping the floor and I cooked eggs and bacon for lunch yesterday because I wanted to and needed to be on my feet for a bit - my arse is beginning to resemble a flat-iron, I'm on it so much! I may even attempt a shower sometime today, for which I am certain Someone will be quite grateful, as simply washing with a rag doesn't quite cut it.

I love to watch Someone with our daughter. His voice, his eyes, and his smile are so full of love, so gentle...whew...good thing I got my knittin' knotted or we'd be in this same boat again a year from now! I'm too danged old to be wanting/having more spawn! The way she stares up at him, puzzling out who he is, her face so serious...the way he looks down at her, marvelling at his wee lassie...oh, how full it makes my heart! She turns toward him when she hears his voice, follows his blurry form with her eyes when she sees him moving about. Completely relaxed in his hands, she'll sigh and fall asleep on him, nestling in to his shoulder or chest, content to be Papa's baby girl.

Yesterday evening I was changing her nappie (one of the few times I've done it - Someone is Johnny-on-the-Spot about nappy changing) and had a quiet moment with her. It has always awed and amazed me how a tiny baby can engender such vast feelings. I said a little blessing - "May the Gods who blessed me with you bless me also with a long life, so that every day I may love you, Little Big Brother, and Papa a little more."

It has only been since Tuesday, but already I cannot imagine a life any different than this one. I love my family...love how we are growing into each other...love how Sprout falls limply and completely asleep on Someone's chest, warm and safe under her cuddly blankie, happy when she's skin to skin with him and can smell/feel him. While my heart was the first primal rhythm she knew, and will always be the tempo in which she finds comfort and peace...his is the second drum which will calm her, to which she will dance in her dreams.

Last evening, he was holding her, giving her a bottle (you'll hear more about that later), and my eyes teared up a bit. There was such love between them, and an aura of peace about them.

I had to remind myself to breathe...I was sitting so still, loathe to disturb the quiet...loathe that even one hushed exhalation should flutter across the room and interrupt their tableaux.

Life, though, has a way of going on whether one will or no, and soon enough Someone was busy cooking dinner and I was comforting a mysteriously unhappy baby - she had one of those jags that only babies are capable of, that cry that at once pierces the ears and heart and drives parents to distraction trying to discover whatever the matter could be and right it at once. Poor thing...likely it was just gas, a bubble that wouldn't come or go and so made her middle ache. She finally calmed and went to sleep, once more our peaceful wee bairn.

In the last few days, I have had several happy occasions to remind myself to breathe...and I anticipate plenty more in the future, which makes me smile. It'll help the other "breathe" moments - the ones fueled by doubt, by hormones on the rampage, the ones that overwhelm me and threaten to overshadow everything else - pass.

So...what's made you stop and take a breath, lately??