I have a daughter. GOD, she is cute. She smiles at me, and my mind freezes in pure bliss. I adore her. I have a slew of ridiculous nicknames for her. Today, its Fuzzy Pickle. She threw up last night, and aspirated a bit of milk, and I swear, my heart stopped for a while. I didn't breathe, I just did every single thing my brain knew how to do, and then I just stopped thinking. I stopped time. I just held her. Time goes no where when I feel her hurting. Time tortures me and saves me, all at the same time. I am able to watch every tear slide down her cheeks, see every dark hair on her soft head. I am able to count the thumps on her back and feel her cough to get the milk out of her lungs. Nothing moves. Listen for rattling in her lungs. Clear her airways. Roll her on her side and pat her back, using an upward motion. Get her skin to skin to help calm her. Keep wiping away the milk she coughs up. Keep her elevated.
I get her to cough out the milk, and I hold her. I tuck her in next to me, and I lie awake, staring at her sweet face for hours, listening to her breathe. I don't move, I don't blink. I just watch and protect. My body goes cold and stiff on the outside, but I push all of my warmth to her side. We sleep, my arms circled around her tiny body. She calms, she finds rest. We dream together.
We wake this morning and stare at each other in the early morning light. Her eyes find mine, and we are quiet. I never want to leave these moments.
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Week 5 is here and gone, in a flash. I'm not sure what to do with myself, because time is getting speedier, and I feel like I am never on top of my list of things to do. Maggie is....herself. She has been sleeping amazingly well. Some nights I wake her up to eat, instead of her waking me up. She doesn't cry at night at all. She gets a little moody at night before bed, but we have found with a little baby massage and some TLC, she will go to sleep for us. She sleeps snuggled right between us on the bed, so we pass her back and forth on the nights when she struggles a little. We have found that broccoli doesn't work for her. Gas bubbles make her angry. Otherwise, she is one happy little girl.
I would write about Thanksgiving, but that would take forever. Highlights are: we butchered a duck, goose and a turkey. Adam killed the turkey, and then promptly stabbed himself in the finger. Ouch. We had 20+ people at our dinner, the food was amazing, the party was great, and nobody had any issues. So yeah! Woohoo! We are thankful.
Anyways, I have to run, my list spilleth over.
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