|Welcome to Blorpy Town: Population Two Cheeks.|
After going three and a half years between kids, there are still some things about having an infant around again that take some getting used to. Namely, diapers. Calder has been pretty much fully potty trained for over a year now. I pretty much forgot how fast babies go through diapers and wipes. I though the giant box of diapers I ordered on Amazon Mom would be enough to get through a month. I was sorely mistaken. I also didn't think we needed to get any wipes. We have kept buying those all along because, c'mon, they are awesome. I think we had a bulk box with three or four packs left in it at the time she was born. Uhhh, not so much any more. The physical act of diaper is also much more difficult than I remember. Not only do newborns not listen when you say, "Stay still so you don't get crap all over yourself.", they don't even care if they do. Wren pretty much hates being diapered. She seems to prefer letting things air out a bit. Same goes for getting dressed: Calder - self sufficient. Wren - no help and, in fact, does not want.
Wren's belly button is still a bit... leaky so I had Bruce shoot the doctor an email. Thanks to Dr. Google I am afraid she has an umbilical hernia. We'll probably have to bring her back into the office to have it looked at. From my internet-ing at the very least she'll probably get some silver nitrate in it to dry it out and at the very most, uh, no idea. Haven't crossed that brain bridge yet but it's not like I don't have a million other things to worry about right now.
I also forgot how terrible being postpartum is. The cramps, the stitches, the return of hemorrhoids, the constant bleeding. None of it is very fun. It's like your body is punishing you for the awesomeness of not getting your period for nine months. As if the swelling and weight gain weren't punishment enough. That's not even counting the massive hormonal mood swings. Plus, daily interaction with a three year old does not help. "Please just eat your dinner. I don't care if you hate eating." *sob* Neither does trying to get dressed. "My fat pants are too small and my maternity clothes are too big and I have nothing to nurse in." *sob* Nor does watching the evening news. "Elebenty billion people I don't know dead in a tornado in Alabama and some are children?" *SOB* Even if I am mentally and physically still in recovery, every one else seems to think I look great. Each time I leave the house at least one person exclaims, "I can't believe you had a baby X number of days ago!" Thanks, people. Even if you are lying which I doubt. I have lost approximately 35 pounds in two weeks. It's a little diet I call stress and breastfeeding.
Speaking of which, breastfeeding Wren is going much better these days. Thank you, everyone, for your advice and support. It's still tough at times and if I even try to skip one of my steps I will surely pay for it later. I have taken to wearing the shells at all times, even in public. I hope no one really notices but just in case I plan to tell people that I am trying to bring back the Sweater Girl torpedo-boob look. I bought myself a nipple shield for when I just can't take the pain and I religiously use the lanolin after every feeding. Wren still isn't the best latcher. It's strong but inaccurate; sometimes I will have to try two or three times to get her on the boob in a way that doesn't make me want to screech with pain. Of course, once she's on there, right or wrong, getting her off is a tough endeavor on its own. It's like trying to unlatch a pit bull.
And the stress part? Well there's the whole moving thing and the two kids and finances and stuff and of course the lack of sleep. Yeah, I know, shocker. I haven't slept in my own bed in a week and a half unless you count me trying a last ditch attempt to get Calder to sleep by letting him start the night in there with me and then sneaking away to take the baby from Bruce. I have spent the bulk of my sleeping time on our horrible, nasty, no-good couch. Wren is a great sleeper unless you try to make her sleep somewhere she doesn't like. Those places include her pack n' play, the crib (I am guessing) and anywhere that is not directly attached to your chest. Generally, I start the evenings with her sleeping on me and once she is out deeply enough, I try to transfer her to the vibrating chair that is on the floor next to the couch. If she is being good, she'll hang there for about three hours but if she is being super fussy, I'll spend the night staring straight ahead, trying not to fall asleep and drop her. I suppose of could do this in my room but there is no light in there other than the ceiling fixture. If I had to turn the lights on every time I needed to get her latched on to eat, Bruce would probably kill me in a fit of sleep-deprived anger. And latching in the dark is a one-way ticket to ouchie town so couch it is.
In all, week two has gone pretty well. Calder still loves his sister and Wren continues to be a mostly chill baby. She certainly has her screamy times but they are much less frequent than Calder's were.