Oh internets, today was good.
It was sunny, for one, which makes all the difference in my books. Winters are tough round these parts, because contrary to what you may believe with me living in Canada and all, winters here don’t involve snow and freezing temperatures most of the time, instead winters on our West coast are characterized by rain, rain, and more rain. Grey skies and wet. It’s extremely unpleasant and depressing (even moreso when you’re stuck inside all day), so when I woke up today and saw clear skies and SUN, I knew that it was going to be a good day, even if it did involve steadfastedly ignoring that delicious wheel of brie that my sister-in-law generously got for me as a treat which now languishes on the top shelf while Adam eats it slowly slice by slice WHY DAIRY INTOLERANCE WHY?
I swear, I thought I was missing out by not having some horrific 54 hour labour story to lord over Olive her whole life, but now that I’ve given up cheese (for what, the entire time I’m breastfeeding? Please god no, tell me there’s a statute of limitations on this gassiness?), now that I’ve given up cheese and chocolate and coffee and basically all that is good in life, this little girl is never going to hear the end of it.
“You clean up your room right now young lady I DIDN’T EAT GOAT CHEESE FOR A YEAR!”
Ahem. Slight tangent there. Anyway, Olive and I took Gus for a big, long overdue dog walk in the sunshine and crisp fall leaves. She fell asleep in the Ergo and I was feeling pretty good so I just kept going. It was SO nice to be outside, in fresh air with sun on my face. I really hope we have more days like this, my sanity depends on it, I feel so much better after being able to get out and about, and that in turn is so much easier to do when I’m not stuck in a torrential downpour with no end in sight.
After taking her home to feed her, I ran a few errands around town – picked up some Fennel tea, checked the mail etc.
I’m getting more confident taking her out and about – although barring the Mom groups I’ve started going to, I’m still keeping these trips fairly short out of some overriding terror that she’ll start wailing in a public place and I’ll be unable to soothe her (…and then what?, asks the logical side of me, then I’ll be crowned a Bad Mother because I have a baby that cries? UNHEARD OF!)
We gave her a bottle a few nights ago and again tonight, she sputters at first while trying to figure out this new experience, but tonight went better than it did before and when I nursed her later she didn’t push me away and wail for the plastic replacement, so that’s a bonus I guess?
I can tell that Adam is happy to be more involved, but damn he doesn’t have to be so creepy about it and yes, calling the bottles “Daddy Milk” is just the beginning.
When we were trying to decide when to introduce bottles in the first place he was in favor of doing it right away and I wanted to wait a few weeks. at one point in the discussion he picked up the breast pump and began advancing towards me, a determined look on his face.
“I’m not giving you my milk!” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Fine then” he replied with a demonic smirk, “I’ll have to take it.”
And now I can never sleep again, not because I have a newborn baby, but because I worry that my husband is going to secretly steal my breastmilk in the night.
This is my life.
Olive turned one month old today, and celebrated by being the most beautifully behaved baby the whole day. Alert and content and no crying – she was so good that when Adam got home I took an hour and had a bath by myself. I ran that water as hot as I could stand it – something I haven’t been able to do in almost a year, for fear of cooking the fetus that was Olive. After the bath water cooled down Adam brought Olive in and we bathed her too, she’s going to be a water baby I can tell.
So, we survived the first month! We haven’t torn each other apart like animals or devoured our own young, I’m quite proud of us if I do say so myself.
P.S. I hear y’all in the states have some sort of election happening tomorrow? Well this Canadian politely asks that you elect the good guy. You know, NOT the crazy rich one named after a piece of baseball equipment who’s all up in ladies reproductive business.
P.P.S. If he does get elected, he of the the craziness, I have a sex attic available for any and all deserters.