We've made it through a month together. This one and the rest of us that is.
I sit here with him perched on my still sore chest, me typing away while he grunts and strains to fill his diaper before falling back asleep. Are all newborns still this sleepy at one month old? I can't remember.
Time seems irrelevant in these early days. The hours are spent in a constant cycle of eat, sleep, diaper change, repeat, interspersed with whatever else I can fit in between all of that. Some things have been easier than I expected them to be, other things haven't turned out how I'd hoped. Like nursing. I promised myself before this boy was born that I wouldn't be as insane about it as I was with the Nub, but turns out I lied, because you can't avoid that kind of crazy. The old debate of bottle vs breast sometimes isn't as simple as it would seem to be, and that fact makes it all the worse when you find yourself without much of a choice in the matter.
But I press on blindly, because sometimes, doing what you can and letting go of what you can't is easier said then done.
I had to describe myself in a few words today for something and what I came up with was "happy", "wife", "mother", and "humbled". I'm happy being a wife and mother and humbled (sometimes to the point of tears and frustration) by the lessons I'm forced to learn everyday in these different roles, and that's plenty enough for now.
