Where to Begin

I'm ashamed that I have recently let this documentary of Merrill's first year go by without photos and stories. With each day that passes, I realize I'm yet another day behind in keeping up with how quickly she's changing...and that I'm not doing her justice by postponing it simply because it's overwhelming to try to catch up.

Every day, I intend to dedicate time to this. Every day, I decide I'd rather play in the floor for ten more minutes, dance to one more song, take a walk that's longer than I'd planned for, and the laptop never quite makes its way to my lap.

I'll get there. In the meantime, at the very least, I can post a photo.

Four Months & Counting

So. Merrill is four months old. Four months old and then some, to be precise.

Huh?

I'm not sure how this happened. I look at her and I have moments where I still see her wearing two t-shirts and a tiny cap, wrapped in two blankets to keep her wee little four pound body warm. I also have moments where I see her stretched out in front of me, all 24 and a half inches of her, all fourteen pounds, and I am so proud and so enamored with who she's becoming.

She has three different octopus toys, and she is obsessed with each of them. Each of them evoke the biggest grins, the loudest squeals, and the most hysterical facial expressions. She hates to take naps during the day, but she is the most amazing nighttime baby. She makes tiny contented noises as she takes her bottle, and she wraps her hands tightly around our fingers as she drinks it. She loves her changing table, and to be naked is pure bliss. Bathtime is calm time, as she stares up at us with a look of sheer content.

There is nothing greater than the sweet smile she gives as she sees our faces peek over the edge of her crib in the morning, and when she is still half asleep and tucks her face into our shoulders for a quick snuggle, it's enough to make our hearts melt. She will turn towards any television showing a football game, and stare wide-eyed at what she sees.

She is beginning to roll around, and we have a tiny glimpse of what life will be like once she becomes mobile. She will not take a pacifier except in the most dire circumstances, and only occasionally we will catch her finding her thumb to nibble on. Her hair sticks straight up after she has a bath, her eyelashes are long, and her lips are still the same pouty ones she had when she entered our lives and changed them forever.

She is my baby, my heart, my world. She is everything I ever wanted, and all of the things I never knew I could have. She is a surprise every day, something new to behold, and each morning when I wake up to her, I know she is the reason I was put on this earth. I miss her when she's asleep, and I yearn for the moment she wakes up again so I can be with her again. I tell her everything, and she has quickly become my most trusted confidante.

She's it. She's all of it.

When You Assume

When I was in high school, I had a boss that used to say "When you assume, you make an ass of you and me" - and I'm reminded of that now as I realize how inaccurate all of my assumptions regarding parenthood really were.

I never thought I'd want to move to the suburbs. I love our trendy neighborhood with our eclectic house and couldn't fathom leaving it to have a typical home in a typical subdivision behind the typical shopping center. Now we find ourselves beginning the process of finding a new home and putting ours on the market. Somewhere along the way over the past four months, we've determined that it's more important to be near a Target, new schools and child friendly chain restaurants. My family lives in a suburb north of where we are now, and it makes more sense to be near them..Merrill's pediatrician is in the same suburb, etc., and so the logic goes.

I always thought having a child meant some changes in your world, but that as a whole you simply had a third person in your midst as you went about your normal routines. Shopping trips would only mean the addition of a stroller, dinner reservations would be for three instead of two, and travel would simply require a second suitcase. Oh, if I only knew how wrong that theory would prove. Even the most mundane tasks such as personal hygiene, cooking, and cleaning become small feats to achieve.

The world I created in my head while I was pregnant included a marriage that would only be enhanced and strengthened once this sweet little baby entered into it. While it is empowering to look at your partner and know you've joined together to create a life, and that you're working together to shape a person's identity, it's also terrifying and paralyzing at times. I've felt more fear than I thought possible in respect to how our relationship may suffer as a result of putting our needs on the back burner and having our bond become an afterthought at times. There is far less time for "we". The conversations revolve around her needs and milestones and the interaction becomes a series of tag-team events. Fatigued bodies and fried minds lead to little in the way of quality communication and affection. It's easy to forget that our love for each other is what got us here in the first place - and it's all too important that we maintain what we have. From the time we began dating, we never really had to work at anything - the relationship flowed smoothly, and falling in love was easy. Things progressed at a comfortable pace, and conflicts simply didn't exist. The realization that we are now in a place of needing to stick together and work at maintaining our bond is unsettling at times.

There are also things I assumed I'd feel that are inaccurate only in the sense that I didn't fathom how deeply they'd go. I knew I'd feel protective towards this baby, and I knew I'd do everything in my power to ensure her safety and happiness. I didn't anticipate how fierce and raw the emotions would be. I never saw it coming...never predicted the intensity of my feelings for her and never prepared myself to be stripped down to the bare bones.

The past four months have been a roller coaster of emotional and physical upheaval...and it's been the most amazing, unreal, and magical ride of my life.

An Open Letter

Since I've had Merrill, I've been incredibly humbled on a multitude of levels. I've been put in my place more times than I can count, have seen the error of my ways, and have learned - perhaps too well - how to say I'm sorry.

I apologize to any mother I ever judged. I never understood how difficult it is to get yourself and a newborn together and out the door without looking as though you've been dragged behind the back of a car for several miles. I could never quite comprehend why it was so hard to get dressed in something other than sweats and a tank top, or why a ponytail is the hairstyle of choice. Now I do. I do.

I'm sorry that since I became a mother, I'm not a very good friend. Girls, I love you - and I want to call/email/visit more than you know - but when Mer takes a nap, it's all I can do to keep myself from exploding as I try to brush my teeth, shower, eat, do laundry, pay bills, download pictures, clean the house, make a grocery list, etc...all before she wakes up again. I'm sorry that more often than not, keeping up with my friends falls to the bottom of that list.

I give a very intense apology to my body - the one that I always took for granted before I got pregnant, and the one that will never be the same again. I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry. You received the brunt of the brutality associated with pregnancy, from the sickness to the aches and pains - and you certainly lost the war of delivery. Since then, I haven't treated you very well - what with my poor diet and lack of exercise (apparently walking the halls with a cranky baby doesn't count as exercise, and cheese doesn't count as a balanced meal) but I assure you, I appreciate you, I miss you, and I vow to get you back again.

Honey, you deserve the most apologetic words of all - and you know it, even if you won't admit it - which is just one more reason you deserve it. You've been the most amazing husband and now you're an amazing father - and I probably don't tell you enough. I'm sorry for the days I act like a martyr, and I'm sorry that there are days I make you feel like a second-rate player in this show. I know I am over the top at times, and a complete hot mess at others, and even though I know I won't ever be perfect, I'm glad you're ok with that.

Lastly, and most importantly....I'm sorry, Merrill. I'm sorry that I've had moments where I've had hot tears falling on your sweet head as I try to rock you to sleep. I'm sorry we couldn't make breastfeeding work. I'm sorry you had such uncomfortable tummy issues early on, and I'm sorry I waited so long before trusting my instincts and switching you to soy formula to make them go away. I'm sorry I have been so tired at times that I don't make any sense. I'm sorry that as much as I wish I could be perfect, I have fallen short on many occasions. I want to be your everything, and I want to give you the best there possibly is...and while it may not always be enough, I hope you'll always understand how much I love you. How very, very much I love you.

The Long and the Short of It

What's been going on around here lately, the short version:

• Fell into the tub trying to hang towels on the towel rack. Cursed.
• Packed maternity clothes, pump parts, and baby clothes that no longer fit the chunk. Cried.
• Booked too many plans for the month. Collapsed.
• Played with Merrill. Smiled.

And now, if you have any interest in being bored out of your mind....



What's been going on around here lately, the long version:

• I love our shower. It was one of the things about our house that I loved most when we bought it, and one of the things we get the most compliments on. It's an enormous shower/tub combo, built into a raised section of our bathroom with tile surrounding it. It has an oversized overhead rain faucet. It's glorious. That being said, as much as I love it for the shower, I hate it for the tub. The huge shower I love so much translates into a tub I can't take a bubble bath in, because I can't touch the foot of it with my toes...so I slide. Since it's built into the raised section, it sits so low that you have to lean down into it...meaning it's a bitch to clean. Now I have one more reason to despise it...it's impossible to bathe a baby in. Not a good thing when you're trying to wrangle a slippery wiggly infant. Also not a good thing when you're leaning over the step, trying to hang towels on the towel rack...balance lost, momentum gained.


• I decided to pack up my maternity clothes and the various items from my pregnancy, such as vitamins, books, stretch mark creams, etc...as well as the clothes that don't fit Merrill any more (a shockingly large amount) and the breast pump & parts since that is no longer a part of our routine. It hit me with enormous force that I am no longer pregnant, that I have a three month old, and that she is a formula fed baby. I'm still trying to write about my feelings concerning breastfeeding and our experience with it, and I haven't been able to find the right words. For now, let's just say it still gets me. Packing up these items and putting them in the attic served as a glaring reminder that time is flying past me in leaps and bounds, and I'm simply standing with my mouth hanging open, watching it rush past me. Every time I look at Merrill's sweet face, and realize that she's not a tiny newborn any more - and beyond that, no longer being carried in my womb - I am amazed at how much the past three months have changed our lives, and I can't even remember life without her.


• We've been going nonstop lately, what with a family vacation, my mother-in-law visiting for a week, my husband's best friend from college surprising him with a weekend visit, a trip to Mississippi to visit my grandparents, my nephew's birthday party, one of my best friends from high school coming to town....the list goes on and on. I've overextended us physically and mentally, and Merrill has been a trooper...but it's time for us to slow down and relax.


• There's not a long version of this one. The short one speaks volumes.

• 

What to Expect When You're Expecting

While I was pregnant, I read a lot about birth plans and how very important it was to know what you had in mind for your labor and delivery. Every book I opened and every website I visited made me feel that if I didn't have a plan going in, I. Was. A. Failure. It baffled me. All I could come up with was that I had no control over the situation, nature would pretty much determine the course of events for me, and aside from knowing that drugs would most DEFINITELY be a part of it, I didn't have any sort of notions as to how it would or should go.

As it turned out, I was right. Developing HELLP syndrome at 35 weeks and delivering via emergency c-section pretty much took any preferences I may have had regarding childbirth and threw them out the window. It was wholly unexpected and entirely out of my hands...and while not what I envisioned, I couldn't be happier with my experience.

I've heard of women who get truly upset when birth doesn't go the way they wanted - a c-section when a natural birth was desired, an epidural that doesn't take place due to time constraints, etc. I've had people ask me how I feel about Merrill's birth, whether I'm upset that I didn't get to experience labor and a natural delivery....and I don't know how to answer what seems like a fully loaded question. I didn't have a single contraction, never went into labor, and never got to push. These are all things that in theory, I'd like to experience at some point in my life. However, our experience resulted in a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby - so why shouldn't that be the ideal scenario?

I think I spent the entire pregnancy thinking about the end result - but I never really thought about how we'd get there, so for me that wasn't really the point. The point was that no matter how our baby was brought into the world, it was the right way as long as everything turned out okay. And unequivocally, without a shadow of a doubt, it did.

Milestones

Merrill's two month checkup was yesterday - we'll avoid discussing the trauma of her shots, since the entire family would prefer to forget the tears shed.

She is 11 lbs. 8 ozs and 21 inches long - which seems enormous to me - until a friend reminded me that some newborns are that big. Regardless, it's amazing to look at this baby and remember how tiny she was when she was born.

She can almost hold her head up by herself, and she loves to sit and look out the window. She's mesmerized by birds, smiles whenever she hears her dad's voice, and pouts when she's not being held. She makes sweet little cooing sounds whenever she hears certain songs, and she squeaks herself to sleep at night. There are a million other little tiny things she's doing, and I'm desperate to remember them all - because it's all happening so fast.

I rarely get things done during the day, and that's ok. I'm tired, and that's ok too. I desperately need a haircut, I hardly wear makeup anymore, and I live in comfy clothes...but it's all ok.

Because of her.

Beach Bound, Baby!

We are leaving for the beach tomorrow, and in all my life I've never experienced anything as trying as attempting to pack for myself (only 4 lbs. away from my pre-pregnancy weight but oh my LANDS, why do my pre-pregnancy clothes still not fit??), my husband (he'd wear the same shorts all week if I let him but yet he's strangely particular about what gets put into the suitcase for him), and an infant - an infant that weighs less than 10 lbs. and still somehow manages to require quadruple her body weight in clothes, diapers, wipes, formula, blankets, burp cloths and equipment that we will probably never even need.

It wasn't the packing itself that made me crazy...it was the packing while having Mer strapped to me in her sling - since she refuses to be separated from me if we are in the same place at the same time. It's an excellent reminder of what it was like to carry all that extra weight around, and an excellent refresher course on back pain - but to be able to simply lower my head and smell her sweetness, while kissing the top of her head....yeah. It works.

I imagine the week will consist merely of slapping a clean diaper on her when needed, feeding her when she gets righteously pissed off, and snuggling three deep in the bed instead of having her sleep next to us in the bassinette. Oh, and outfits - lots of outfits - since the child has a wardrobe larger than mine and is rapidly growing out of her clothes. I'm thinking wardrobe changes three times daily should do the trick.

Little Sunshine

When I read this, I silently handed the laptop to my husband with the "you have to see this" look on my face he has learned to interpret as such. It is such a succinct and true account of what it's been like to adapt to life with a newborn.



We spent the weekend in Indiana with my husband's family, where Mer Mer got to meet her great-grandpa for the first time and where we enjoyed time spent in the hot tub, glasses of wine for me and beers for him...while family members took turns passing Mer around like a football. Now that we're home, she's very loudly insistent that she be held constantly, in keeping with the past few days - which makes things like laundry, lunch, and a shower near impossible.

With this cuteness as your playmate, who needs food or cleanliness?

The Rainbow Connection

As much as I'd like to skip down the path of "motherhood is perfect" and letting myself live in a world of unicorns made of cotton candy and magical golden kittens, I do have to address the other side. Because although life with this baby is in fact amazing and soul-fortifying to the point of ridiculousness, there are times and pieces that are scary and painful and emotionally exhausting. It's scary to admit them to myself, much less the handful of people that may actually read this - but it's also scary to pretend they don't exist, and it's impossible to float through a trying day without accepting that things aren't always perfect.

I try to remain confident in my decisions regarding the care of Merrill - I try to trust my gut and attempt to feel good about how well I'm handling things - but I occasionally become paralyzed with fear that I'm doing something wrong. There are going to be people who judge me and disagree with me and it will take a thick skin to handle the criticism - much thicker skin than I find myself possessing so far. There is something so devastating about hearing someone tell you that you aren't doing a good enough job, and the feeling of being so utterly deflated while having to force yourself to cope is overwhelming.

I am extraordinarily blessed to have the opportunity to stay home with Merrill as long as I want - at least, that's the situation as it currently stands. We are in a position that allows us to maintain things financially, even without the boost a second income would certainly provide. Until I've made the decision regarding whether or not I'd like to be a stay at home mom indefinitely, I'm able to spend time with my adorable daughter and enjoy every minute of her. I am lucky, and I get it. I'm also envious of my husband for being able to go to work every day, to spend time doing something that requires mental stimulation, to have conversations with people, etc. I feel myself rapidly slipping into a neat little category, where I'm losing my edge and becoming far less multi-dimensional.

I experience guilt on a level I never knew existed - knowing I can't be perfect but beating myself up for it even as I know I shouldn't. I find myself constantly working on acceptance of self, taking things far too outside of my control and attempting to control them anyway. I question whether I'm good enough for her, whether I'm truly doing everything I can, whether it's enough.

Having a baby is empowering and scary and has stripped me down to the bare bones. It has made me stronger, allowing me to keep going long after I think I can't....and it has made me weaker, causing me to feel fear and worry on a level I didn't know existed. It's a constant test that provides constant rewards, and it's an ongoing challenge that provides ongoing bliss. It is not always perfect, and it's not always magical - but at the end of the day, every single dark part is so completely lit by the joy she brings...making it all worthwhile.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Today is my 31st birthday, and Merrill gave me poop. Literally. At 5am, as I opened her diaper to change her, she chose that exact moment to let it fly. It got on me, on her, on the changing table, the walls, the bed, and the floor.

And I couldn't have cared less.

This Little Piggy

It's hard for me to find the place where the paranoia of being a new mother ends and the trusting of your gut instincts begins. As much as I don't want to be "that" mother, the one that panics over every little thing and ends up staring wild-eyed at the computer screen with google results so terrifying I want to throw the computer out in the yard for the dogs to use as a chew toy, I also don't want to be the kind of mother that would ever ignore a potentially bad situation until it is too late.

I decided to take Merrill to the doctor to get peace of mind about the drama surrounding the lack of poopy diapers and the increase in her discomfort. My main question was concerning the type of formula she's on, and whether that's the best choice for her. There is nothing greater than hearing a trusted professional tell you that everything is ok and this too shall pass - no pun intended.

In non-bowel related news, this piglet weighs 8 lbs. 6 ozs. - an increase that caused the nurse to weigh her three times and the doctor to do a double take when he saw her chart. Maybe it's the extra calories from her Karo syrup-laden bottles.

Dear Merrill,

You're going to be six weeks old tomorrow - which hardly seems possible - and I want to make sure I'm taking note of every little thing I can right now, because I want to be able to remember each tiny detail and milestone.

I stare at you for hours on end, watching you purse your lips as though you're concentrating intently. I capture the tiny smiles that cross your face, and hope they are in reaction to the songs I make up for you as we spend a lazy day in bed. I laugh at all of the little noises you make, from the squeaks when you're stretching out to the machine-gun sounds that escape your lips after you eat.

You love to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling fan while you get a tummy rub...and you are happiest when you're curled up in a ball on your dad's chest. Last week, when we gave you a pacifier for the first time, you reacted as though it had been dipped in crack. You grab our fingers whenever they pass your hands, and your grip is amazingly strong.



All of these things seem so basic, yet I am filing them all away because they are the things that make you who you are. We are getting the opportunity to watch you grow and become your own person, and that makes us the luckiest people in this world. We are already so proud of you, and we are so amazed and honored that you are a part of our family.

You don't know what you've done for me in the short time you've been here. You've helped me exceed my own expectations of what I'm capable of, while challenging me to be better than I was. You've given me the strength and the patience I was afraid I'd never find in myself...and you've managed to eliminate the selfish nature I was afraid I'd never lose. You let me find rational thought in the midst of fears, acceptance even when I don't have control, and energy on the days that I'm so tapped out I can't think straight.

The past six weeks have been amazing, and we can only imagine where we'll go from here.

In the categories of "I never thought I'd hear myself have a conversation like this" and "One day Merrill will hate me for telling this story"....

She. Will. Not. Poop.

Oh, she's trying to - but because my body decided it was time to stop producing breast milk and so I've had to give her formula, her little stomach is struggling in a way that is painful to watch. She strains, she cries, she gets red faced, she screams - and nothing comes out. I called the pediatrician's office to find out what I can do to help her out (and in turn, help me out because my God, my heart is breaking to watch her in pain and I can't handle it anymore), and so we are now adding dark karo syrup to her bottle twice a day. That did help - once. I'm currently waiting and hoping for it to work again....essentially, praying for poop. Yeah.

I broke down in tears watching her cry, wanting so badly to fix this for her and knowing I couldn't. The feeling that it's my fault overtakes me, because if it weren't for my lack of breast milk she wouldn't be on formula, but that's a whole OTHER set of issues that I can't even go into at this point, lest my head explode. It initially made me feel like I'm not cut out for this motherhood stuff - because if the sight of my baby being constipated makes me break down, how on earth will I ever be able to handle anything big and real that she has to overcome? It took a teary conversation with my friend Jessi, in which she helped me understand that the presence of my caring means I am cut out for this, to put things in perspective.

Oh, and this didn't hurt either.

I decided to take Merrill to get one-month portraits made, in order to have something to give for Father's Day. Several hundred dollars later, I arrived home with these.

I went in thinking I wanted to get one or two shots of her - and while I gave it a valiant effort to narrow down the 100-plus shots they took, I was only able to narrow it down to thirteen.

Can you blame me?

4w6d

When people asked me what I was getting my husband for Father's Day, I would quickly reply that I got him a baby. We were pretty sure the baby would be here in time, since my due date was 2 days prior, but we weren't expecting our little one to be a month old by the time Father's Day rolled around.

I am usually not one who struggles for words - I can pretty much always convey any emotion I'm experiencing and don't seem to lack for things to say....but when it came time to sign his card, I was at a complete loss. There is just nothing I can say to adequately illustrate how much I love this man, how proud I am to be the mother of his child, and how easily and effortlessly he has fallen into the role of being the most amazing father to his little girl.

He swoops down on her at the end of the day with such excitement at seeing her tiny face - and covers her with kisses as he tells her about his day and how much he missed her. She perks up and smiles when he walks in the door and she hears his voice - and then she curls up against him and sighs contentedly. It's sometimes more than I can handle.

Happy Father's Day, sweets - you're so much more than these two girls could ever ask for.

4w1d

There are a number of things that are muuuuuuch easier to do without the presence of an infant:

• Managing to take a shower that's long enough to allow for shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shaving underarms and legs
• Doing more to your hair than pulling it into a ponytail/headband/braid - forget the flat iron or curling iron (hell, forget the hair dryer most days)
• Cooking a meal that includes no pre-cooked elements, nothing from a box, and nothing from the frozen food aisle
• Sleeping. Duh.
• Having a conversation with your husband about anything other than said infant
• Waking up from a fog to find it's pouring outside, where the dogs are - and then trying to get two 75 lb. dogs inside, into a bath to wash the layers of mud off of them, drying them, washing the towels used for that bath, cleaning up the pile of vomit from one of those dogs because the rain sent him into a tizzy and upset the delicate balance of his stomach....all while it's time for the baby to eat and all because your husband laughed when you mentioned the thunder and the possibility of rain and the notion that maybe, just maybe, the dogs should be brought in from outside before he left for work.

Then of course there's the things that are impossible to do without the presence of an infant...namely, staring at your beautiful child for hours on end, loving her very presence.

3w4d

This is Merrill's first day at the pool - and a perfect way to depict her size by showing her in relation to one of her dad's favorite things.

2w6d

Last night, we gave Merrill her first full-blown bath - I had a feeling it would cause some tears and drama, since the sponge baths we've been giving her have been met with disdain and righteous pissed-offedness. Sure enough, she was not a fan of bathtime. She screamed and shivered and as much as I kept scooping warm water over her while washing her as quickly as I could, she was only content once it was over and she was wrapped in a towel, curled up against me.

(Disclaimer: this photo is terrible, since it was taken with our video camera instead of our regular camera. The regular camera was at my friend Jessi's house, where it was left behind following an afternoon of margaritas. Oops.)

Catching Up

Oh, where to start.....

The past two weeks have been a blur, and as much as I've wanted to sit down and write about the entire experience of Mer's birth, and the days that have followed, I can't seem to wrap my head around it enough to dive into the monumental task of covering everything. (Not to mention my inability to set this angel down long enough to reach for the laptop...)


On the Monday before she was born, I spent the day in a great deal of discomfort. A sensation similar to indigestion started early that morning and by the afternoon, the pain was intensifying and wrapping around my back. I called my doctor and he thought it sounded like a gall bladder attack - so he suggested we head to the hospital to get an ultrasound to check for gallstones. Several hours later, I was being admitted to the hospital overnight for observation after my bloodwork came back wonky and my blood pressure was too high. Fast forward twelve hours, as I sat waiting on a doctor to come talk to me about what was going on - as my husband left the hospital to grab lunch - not knowing our lives were about to change. A doctor walked in and announced that they were delivering the baby - and the response to my question of when was "now".

I was on the phone with my husband telling him to hurry and get back to the hospital as a nurse was prepping my IV, an anesthesiologist was explaining the risks of a c-section, and I was signing paperwork with my free hand. My husband walked in the door as they were wheeling me down the hall, just in time to have a gown and mask thrown at him.

Turns out I had HELLP syndrome, a form of hypertension associated with high liver enzymes, low platelet count, and high blood pressure. It doesn't cause problems for the baby, but is very dangerous for the mother if left untreated - and the only way to relieve it is to deliver the baby.

It was all such a blur, and it all happened so fast - but as I was laying on the operating table, holding my husband's hand and talking to him, I didn't feel fear at all - only excitement at meeting our child. It never even dawned on me to worry about the surgery or having our baby come a month early.

When I heard our baby crying as she was born, and heard my husband announce that we had a girl, I was in complete awe - and when I looked over and saw her for the first time, I couldn't believe it was real. Even now, two weeks later, I still look at her and get overwhelmed with the notion that she is the one I carried for the past 8 months.


She's amazing. She's sweet and cuddly, she makes the most adorable squeaking noises, she has the most gorgeous pouty lips, and she's definitely the same active child that used to kick me and roll around. At her two week checkup, she weighed in at 5 lbs. 7 ozs, which is amazing given how tiny she was at birth. She eats heartily - although I can't even go into the saga of attempting to breastfeed her at this point - and her cheeks have begun to fill out in the most adorable way.

Basically, I'm completely enamored with her - head over heels in love with this tiny little person, and fully aware of the concept of unconditional love and the sense that if anyone were ever to try to hurt her, I'd rip them apart with my bare hands. I'm exhausted yet exhilirated, unable to stop staring at her. Everything I've just written is completely disjointed, and does not even begin to scratch the surface of what we're experiencing, but it's all I can do at this point.