Three weeks already... it feels like you've been a part of our life for so much longer. It could just be that I don't get much sleep right now and in my delirium I think you've been around for forever. Your grandpa came to see you this weekend and he brought two of your aunts along. They like to fight over who gets to hold you, when, and for how long. I'm okay with that, it gives my arms a break. The visit was pretty uneventful, we did try out your new stroller but it was so hot outside that no one really enjoyed it much. Thank you Florida.
When you are six weeks old we can actually go into the swimming pool, which may offer some relief from the heat, too bad you hate being cold. You are going to be an inside baby until November when we can actually go outside without being slapped in the face with the heat and humidity.
You enjoyed bath time the first time, it was just you and me in the tub. You were floating in the warm water calm and alert, no kicking, crying, or splashing. You did not enjoy it the second time but I think that is because daddy was there. You thrashed in the water like we were trying to drown you, which we weren't, just in case you were wondering.
You wake and sleep at crazy hours. I thought I had it figured out. I thought I could get some sleep between four and midnight, while your father was awake, when you were most calm. You decided that calm time now happens during your father's sleep time and I get to pop awake every forty minutes or so to take care of something. Normally you just grab your pacifier and thrust it as far away from you as possible.. then you cry because you want it back. Its like a game. A horrible horrible game.
Sometimes I have to chose between painting or sleeping... and I choose painting. This always makes me cranky later, always, but I think it is the best decision of the two. I would go crazy feeling like I never got anything done if I just slept during your calm times. One day your father will understand why I'm so grouchy with him... he gets an almost-uninterrupted nights sleep. (He can sleep right through your crying. I can't.)
You make the funniest noises sometimes, a lot of times you sound just like a bird. I call you Quail-baby. Don't worry, that moniker won't stick. Your dad whistles bird calls at you, and we joke that you are going to grow up thinking you are a bird.
You don't like being kissed. This makes me kiss you more. All the time. I kiss your head and your cheeks and your belly and your toes. It makes you scrunch your face up and you look like an angry old man. Or, sometimes, when I try to kiss your face you think its time for food and you try to eat my nose. And just so you know, your breath stinks.
For some reason you stopped sleeping in your basket. Why, baby, why? You will only sleep on the bed with me or daddy. This means that only daddy or mommy can sleep at one time.. there simply isn't enough room for all three of us without one of us dangling precariously off the edge of the bed. Plus, you are a bed hog just like your father. (He will deny this, but I will get pictures, he likes to try and put his elbow IN MY BRAIN while I'm trying to sleep.)
Still, I'd rather you sleep for as long as possible so I can paint/cook/eat/drink/use the potty because once you are awake none of those things happen.
Ahh, soon you will sleep through the night. I keep telling myself that. Soon.