We used to be cool (ok, maybe not). We used to host dinner parties and go see plays. We used to be able to hold a conversation. Today it's a victory if we can put a noun and a verb together. As I sit here at 2am holding 8lbs of a tiny human who can barely lift her head, I find myself assessing how much poop she has had today. What did it look like? And, come to think of it, why does it look like she shotgunned deli mustard and sesame seeds? When did I sleep last? Or my favorite of Meg's deep thoughts: What are the ethics of holding a baby while you pee?
|What the first 2 weeks feel like|
I'm going to say some things that may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I'm running on a 5 hour old cup of coffee and a power bar, so deal with it.
|Ella's reaction to being fed formula|
|Trying to get anything done on|
In between the cries and the poop and leaky breasts, tiny baby clothes will make things ok. Tiny socks, onesies with giraffes on them, knit hats. And the outfits. You will change the outfits three times a day due to formula overflow or diaper blowouts, but you will also change them because this is now your primary source of entertainment. You will then take 8,000 pictures, post them on Facebook and break the internet- or at least overwhelm your friends to the point they may start blocking you. Sorry team, but to those that stuck with us thus far thanks for playing.
At the end of the day- still not sure what hour that is as we don't know when the day ends or begins anymore- she's the best thing to happen to us. And even at 2am, covered in formula, not sure when you had your last shower and crying at the Swiffer comercial with the cute old couple because hormones you look down at that face and think, "I'll keep her."