Thursday, November 10, 2011

Under Pressure

Well... hello there. Long time no see. Of course, ultimately for very good reasons. Buuuu.... uhhhuuuttt... I'm feeling this extreme amount of pressure to blog again. If only to record the beautiful things happening these days, or even the not so beautiful. In my defense I have started like a bajillion posts, including my delivery story and a day by day playback of the first two weeks of the lil' ones life. Because recording how many times she pooed is very important for posterity. You know it is.
Then yesterday she had her six month well child check with Dr. Grandpa. And I was in a panic that I haven't been recording every little thing possible. That all the little changes haven't been shared enough.
There are multiple reasons, one, being the computer I save all my pictures on has been ridiculous about connecting to the internet. And everybody knows you can't write a post after six months without including a picture bomb of the adorable daughter. Duh!
Two through five hundred include: having a baby, recovering from having a baby, feeding baby, getting mastitis twice, changing baby (times one million), not sleeping, cleaning baby puke, going back to work, find someone to watch baby, doing laundry, finding a spare moment to shower, etc.
To summarize: the first three months were HARD. Yes, all caps were appropriate in that sentence. She was colicky, had horrible reflux, breastfeeding was a nightmare, she would not sleep, and cried constantly. I only survived because I had so much help. Avery was wonderful. My mother a life saver, especially when I got mastitis the first time... which happened to be the second weekend home with her, and Avery and my dad were in Moab. Ugh. And Avery's mom, Lora, taking her so many Saturdays just so I could sleep.
I went back to work after six weeks... note to self: way too soon. Luckily, it was teaching only a day or two a week, but still with everything, it was too much for me.
Now don't get me wrong, she was beautiful and tiny and perfect. But I probably have PTSD from the 'newborn' stage.
Then magically she transformed. She decided to wean on her own, absolutely refused, so we switched to formula. Found the perfect one for sensitive tummies, added rice cereal to weigh it down, and poof.... colic and reflux cured. She stopped puking, stopped crying as much, started sleeping. *****HALLELUJAH***** Angels singing, light of heaven shining down. I suddenly had a happy and beautiful and tiny and perfect baby.
She started rolling, then never stopped, started laughing, started smiling, started playing on her own, started pushing herself up, started standing, started crawling, started pulling herself up. All in a matter of three months. Best three months of my life. I love how much fun she has become. We laugh and play and dance. She can still be super annoying, she is very high maintenance, way too independent for a six month old, and way too smart for my sanity. But now I can honestly say I enjoy being a mother.
It might have been a good thing I didn't write a post in those first few months. There would have been way too many murmurings about my mental health. The other day I finally had the thought about having another baby without dropping into the fetal position and sucking my thumb. Don't worry it still won't be for a while. A long, long while. It's interesting how badly I wanted to have a baby, how long I waited for her, how hard we tried, and then how difficult I've found every step. It's not necessarily sad, just interesting. Life is funny.
Things are lovely. I love her so much. She loves daddy more, but you can't always win. I changed jobs, which has turned out wonderfully. I love my job. I love my time with her. Teaching her things, or just watching her figure them out on her own. Which is what usually happens. I know every parent thinks this, but she's a freaking genius. It's insane. Her little serious face when she concentrates super hard cracks me up. How hard she laughs at the silly things Uncle Austin does, is my favorite. How she growls at daddy every time she sees him, because he taught her that, drives me nuts, but it's still adorable. She is my life. And I am totally okay with that.
There are still a few bad, but not nearly as much. Avery is almost done with school, but still has to work a lot on his Master's thesis and project. My work is great, though lately it's been hard to find childcare and I worry about leaving her. Our health has been good, but I'm still not 100% after the pregnancy. I swear my organs are still jacked up. Plus, the amount of Dr. Pepper I drink is unhealthy, and not helping the weight loss. Avery and I are great, doing well adjusting to being parents and partners. He is a great daddy. He comes home kissing Audrey all over, telling her how much he missed her, and how beautiful she is. And then I say "Uh, hello? I'm here too."  :)
I can't wait until we can move out and have a place of our own. But will always be extremely grateful to my parents. I worry about my loved ones' health. There's been some concerns lately. Makes you realize how lucky you are sometimes. And makes you realize how fragile we all really are. I have full blown nightmares about Audrey; being hurt, in danger, or killed. Is that normal? I don't necessarily worry as much during the day, but when my thoughts wander at night....
Luckily, my monitor has a video function that I can switch on and look in on her without waking her. And if I turn up the sound enough, I can hear her snore. Unfortunately, she inherited that from me. Like right now, if you could see her, she's all curled up with her bum and in the air and talking in her sleep. Makes me teary, while smiling.
Oh, and PS she weighs a whopping 14 lbs which puts her in the 12% (good for her) and is 25 inches long (44%) and her head circumference in the 50%. We call her 'bobble head baby': big head, skinny body. But we also call her AdeyBug, Bugga, BabyGirl, and DriDri.
You can call her Audrey. My daughter.