Last night, Matilda's forehead met my collarbone with a *THWACK* and we hit another in a long line of milestones. Now under our collective belt: Her first crying jag from hurting herself. It didn't last long and was mostly the surprise of it that caused the wail, but still. We now have smiles and tears and boo-boos that need Band-Aids.
Today, she is Distressed. The pediatrician was not kidding around when he said Week Six is the height of crank. OMG y'all, she's cranky. We have a swing, a vibrating chair, a yoga ball we bounce her on, a Baby Bjorn, a sling, her carseat and the king of all mobiles in her crib and it's nothing doing. Technically, the yoga ball has quieted her down today, but since that requires one of us to hold her to our chest and bounce her, I'm not counting it. That's manual labor. Also out: My boobs, which actually failed to comfort her for the first time today.
Poor thing.
Crank aside, parentood has been fairly easy for us so far, on account of (at least) two things:
1) Niclas works from home. Because he makes his own hours, the pressure is off the sleeping schedules a bit, as if it's bad at night, he can sleep in the following morning. His working from home also means that I've been able to shower and shave everyday. Ho boy, that makes a world of difference.
2) My mother has been our personal shopper/cleaner/cook and caterer the last month and a half. While I have been to a grocery store since Matilda was born, it wasn't because we actually needed to grocery shop. I can't possibly re-count all the meals she's prepared for us. She's cleaned the kitchen and emptied the dishwasher and folded the laundry and brought me bottles of seltzer. She catered Matilda's party the other day. She cleaned up after it.
We've got it really good. The fact that Matilda is going to nurse my nipples right off my body is just a minor detail.
