I gave him a card telling him that I always knew he’d be a good dad, but I never knew until Matthew was born what a great dad he would be.  And that I loved seeing how much he loved his son.

He smiled at  the card and pulled me in for a hug.  He patted my stomach and told me “Thank you for giving me Matthew.”

 

You’re so very, very welcome.

I was looking at my pictures thinking “You know, I am going to look back someday and think he was always happy”. 

So…..photographic evidence that life is not always easy.

A crying baby…

 

Doesn’t he look nice and pissed off?  I had some guilt taking these photos, about the extra minute it took before I picked him up.  But, now someday I will look back and say “oh yeah, he did cry.”  I think I need some video as well, as the photos do not do the decibel level justice.

The other day when he was crying for food, David and I had an epipheny and realized how the phrase “titty baby” came about.  Matthew may have been (lovingly) referred to as a titty baby.

Up next, the project from hell.  Our front room was intended to be a dining room but we  use it as a study.  The light fixture was a hanging down chandelier type fixture that was intended to be above a table.  It hung down so low we bashed our heads on it constantly.  So we bought a light fixture/ceiling fan to put up.  For many reasons I won’t bore you with, it took many trips to Home Depot and weeks before it finally got done.

Our front room looked trashed….  Actually, sadly it still looks somewhat trashed.  But at least there is no ladder in there now.

And finally, the spit up.  Ah, yes.  It is copius, ever present and, at times, chunky.  It has gotten on him, his clothes, my clothes, David’s clothes, blankets, my hair, the carseat, the floor…
Somehow it seems to have permenently discolored a couple of David’s work shirts, which baffles me, as I everything I read online says that breastmilk spit up does not stain.  At least not dark colored clothing.

In this photo, he  seems to find it amusing.  I’ll take that any day over ticked off.

Sometimes it’s the  middle of the night and he won’t go down and I am tired.  And frustrated.   And not all the time, but sometimes, I stop for a minute and I think. 

I think about how long we tried and how long I waited for him to get here.  I think about women who are infertile, who have miscarriages, whose precious babies are stillborn.  I think of their empty arms.

Sometimes it makes me cry. 

Sometimes it makes the night seem a little shorter. 

Sometimes I think about women whose babies are grown or mostly grown.  They write about how it went by so quickly.

I think about how he is already changing before my eyes.  And while I delight in the changes, it is also bittersweet.  Sometimes I think about him growing up and being too old to cuddle with mom anymore. 

So sometimes, the fact that he only wants to sleep against my chest isn’t so frustrating.

And sometimes, with his little body wrapped up in my arms, he is sound asleep.  I could put him down.  But I hold him a little longer.

Just because I can.

Note to self:  getting a horrible cold when you have an infant…very, very bad idea.  Thankfully after a week of that, I am on the mend.  I have gathered that my immune system does not take kindly to sleeping in one or two hour increments.

We  had our first non-doctor’s appointment outing this past week.  A trip to Babies R Us, the library, and Sonic.  It only took 4 hours.  We made good use of the nursing room at BRU, and then mommy realized she had done a bad, bad thing and only packed one diaper in the diaper bag (I thought there were two).  I had already changed him once, and I knew I was in trouble when I heard that telltale squirt as he nursed.  Luckily, Grandma (my MIL) was there to the rescue.  After all, we were in BRU (convenient!) so she ran out and bought a package of diapers.

We are dealing with possible reflux and a lot of spitting up.  I am watching it and crossing my fingers that it gets better without needing medication for him, but if we have too many days where he seems in pain, then I see no choice.  It breaks my heart for him to cry and not be able to help.  I’ve cut dairy out of my diet just in case it’s a dairy sensitivity. 

Oh Matthew, I love you more than cheese. 

Being a mom is nothing short of amazing.    But perhaps what is just as amazing? 

Watching him become a father.

I used to be jealous of the couples who went through ttc troubles “together” while my husband seemed so neutral on having a baby.  He could take it or leave it.

Then I got pregnant again and the baby stuck.  I got bigger and David was happy and excited.  I knew he would love his son.

I just had no idea how much.

He loves him to bits.  He dotes on him. 

I have received what I never even dared to ask for.

…that something so perfect came from me.

 

“It won’t be like for long,
Someday we’ll look back laughing ’bout the week we brought you home,
This phase is gonna fly by,
So baby just hold on.
It won’t be like this for long.”

Thought I’d share more pictures as I master nursing at the computer.