Atomic Tonic

I should look back in my archives to see what Matilda was like at one week old. I should but I lack disipline and I'm fairly confident that my memory is correct. I'm fairly certain that at one week, Matilda was already putting her lungs to the test. And our patience. She screamed in the living room and the dining room. She screamed in our bedroom and hers. She screamed in the car. She screamed in the Snap-n-Go. She screamed. Even her pediatrician called her high maintenance. She kept us tap-dancing for months. I'm not surprised we tried for a second seeing as we went into number one knowing there would be a number two.

But.

Girlfriend was rough.

Linnea is easy like a Sunday morning. True, she's only a week old and the hight of crank doesn't hit until week six so she's got some time to redeem herself. But right now, she nurses. She poops, forcibly. She waves her hands in the air around her face. She checks out her surroundings -- she seems especially interested in her room -- and she sleeps. She sleeps through a lot. She sleeps through our showers and breakfasts and the sound of the coffee grinder. She sleeps through laundry and sewing projects.

She sleeps through the phone ringing and Matilda jumping. She sleeps through the majority of the sisterly kisses and the tantrums. And she sleeps through pancakes.

I can really only count on her to wake up when Matilda falls asleep.