Newsletter: Week Six

(I'm stealing this idea from dooce though I doubt she'll feel threatened in any way due to my lack of writing panache - oh, and the fact that she doesn't even know that I'm stealing her idea.)

My Dearest Ainsley-Bear,

The last five weeks have been a roller coaster ride. I knew going into this parenthood thing that it wouldn't be easy. But like everything else I do, I expect the results to be extraordinary and when they aren't, I want to run and hide. Thankfully, your father excels at calming me down and keeping me from hopping the next flight to Anywhere Else.

Since I haven't journaled until now, let's take a look back...

I wouldn't say you arrived in a whirlwind - after all there were 17 long hours of labor. But you did decide to make your appearance without much warning to the rest of us. I mean you could have at least called or sent a postcard. Gah! You chose the date, June 9th, that your daddy had predicted you would arrive on, proving to me that he already has more influence on you than I do. I don't suspect that will change anytime soon.

He was also right in predicting that you would have lots of hair when you arrived. And how big you'd be. I suppose I should be thankful that you showed up early. I cringe at the thought of how much bigger you'd be if you had waited until the following Thursday, when I was supposed to be induced. As for that nutritionist that told me early on that I wasn't getting enough calories... have you seen this baby? I mean she's frickin' 'uge. Granny Comardo says you look like a three month old.

And there seems to be no stopping this growing thing, either. I'm already having to set aside clothing that you can no longer fit into. I can't see your adorable feet (monkey toes!) as well when I'm nursing you any more and I used to love to rub them while you ate. I'm sure in twenty years, your going to wonder why you crave a milkshake every time you get a pedicure.

You're finally starting to get on some sort of sleeping pattern - at night at least. Currently, our days usually begin at 4am with a feeding and an easy rock-back-to-sleep (oh, merciful Ainsley!) and end at about 10 pm. We wrap up the day with a massage and a bath, a story if you're in the mood and a late nite snack. You love your massage and baths. And you love being naked. Heh.

Within the last few days, you've finally started laughing and smiling at me. Heretofore, you had reserved those glimpses of glorious gumminess for Everyone Else But Me, including the shelf above your dressing table (Best Shelf Ever - hanging there waiting to hold things up if your procrastinacious mother would ever put anything on it). And your "vocabulary" is beginning to extend beyond the pterodactyl-like screeches you started out with.

I am completely obsessed with your wonderful feet. And your monkey toes with which you already have more dexterity than I do mine.

And the way you sometimes "sing" in your sleep. And how sometimes when I pick you up to put you on my shoulder, you are stretching your arms overhead, arching your back, and scrunching up your legs.

After spending months and months in the womb sleeping on your left side (which I now understand was because you wouldn't fit any other way), you seemed to have developed an affinity for looking to your left. Though we know you are capable of turning the other way, we were temporarily concerned that, in some Zoolander-esque way you would have to spend the rest of your life only possessing the capability of turning left. What kind of job could you get then? NASCAR? Ugh!

There are a number of things over the last six weeks that you've done, or haven't done, that undermined any confidence I ever might have had in my ability to be a good mother. Mostly they involve your sleeping and eating patterns. But they have been a joyous six weeks that are nothing like anything I have ever experienced, or ever will again. And I look forward to figuring out this parent-child relationship together.

Love,
Mama