Oh, labor: how I don't miss you at all.
The amazing Ailie is adjusting well to the world. She sleeps a whole lot during the day; and a bunch at night too. We're doing a few good 2 - 3 hour stretches, with an hour or so of delicious alert time through the evenings. She is wetting and stinking up diapers like a true champion, and breastfeeding is going great this time around. I busted out the nipple shields for one day only; and then the girls just adapted. My heartfelt thanks, girls.
I hear often that girl babes are a bit easier than boys, and up to this point, I would have to concur. We are now at the two-week mark and I'm on edge waiting for a complete personality change. So far, so good. She's a doll, and we adore her.
Her bro is... adjusting. He seems to like her alright, but he's very grabby and sometimes smothers her and JC, when did his head get SO BIG? He asks a million times per day to "see baby", which always involves manhandling baby. I play a lot of defense. It's frustrating. It's difficult to be patient when you're perpetually sleepy. But we're trying. I know this is a huge adjustment for him; and so far today has been much better than the days prior.
I'm recovering too. In fact, this recovery is much easier than the last. I've kept my postpartum tears at bay, only really feeling the urge to cry a few times since Ailie came into our world. (And this was mostly because I watched A League of Their Own, which is a movie I decided I now fucking hate as it made me horribly cranky and distraught. What were you thinking, Dottie? The game made you come alive! And then The Scene with Betty Spaghetti, you guys. And then suddenly, we blink and everyone is 80 and all the husbands and Jimmy Dugan are dead. I just had a beautiful baby girl, and now I have to lament that her life will fly by in an instant? Thanks a lot, Penny Marshall. And the final kicker: Madonna starts singing that maudlin tune that gets stuck in your head for 18 years. The end.)
(Sorry. That movie really messed me up last weekend.)
Where was I? Physically, I'm feeling great. I can't wait to get out there and start exercising again. I've lost 26 pounds thus far. My belly is rapidly shrinking. I have no idea when I shall stop wearing maternity tanks; or when my rings will fit again, but still. Oh! And I drank some pumpkin ale beers. They were as glorious as I remembered.
So things are going well. I've been alone with the kiddos the last three days, and I've managed to hold down the fort and get H out of the house a bit. I can't complain, though it's been fairly exhausting making sure H doesn't accidentally kill his sister. I told J as much yesterday, to which he replied: "This is your life now."
Indeed. And I wouldn't change a thing.