What to do with baby

21 September 2018 : 5 weeks (1 month)

Lochie grows calmer, bigger, sweeter, stronger. Passing wind summons a scream, he is not out of the woods yet, but his unique and unexpectedly calm personality is beginning to shine through.

So far, outside of colic and reflux, all I see is a happy-go-lucky disposition that my baby must have inherited from his father. I hope he will not be highly strung or prone to depression like his mother.

I hope Lochie will have his father’s light amber eyes, gargantuan height, creative-analytical-genius brain, attractive nose, and magnetic personality. And I hope he will have his mother’s perfect pitch, musical talent, sense of dress, decore and style.

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I imagine my son grown up, talking to him about women. I’d like to teach him how to treat a woman right, what women want, and how not to be a surfboard on the dancefloor. I imagine he will play footy, tennis and a sport of his choice, be able to hold a note with his voice, play piano, guitar, and an instrument of his choice. Perhaps classical, jazz and rock styles. Not sure about latin beats – those just baffle me. I imagine Lochie having a band, an experience I always wanted but never had. I imagine him winning and losing in team sports, and enjoying the intoxicating pleasure of being on stage. He shall know how to code, and of course, he shall be an engineer. I hope to have 3 kids, perhaps 3 boys, and all three shall know happiness, pleasure, and love – for that, I am not afraid of trophying my belly with cesarian scars.

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Today we are back on the boob. It is a mystery why we took a break from it. It feels so good to return to nature. It is spring time and as the days grow wamer, Lochie grows calmer. We are trying to communicate more and learn about the world. Today we had tummy-time-on-mummy-time, with his head turned to the left to combat his right-side torticollis. Lochie’s eyes seem to follow sounds and occassionally land on a face, but it is hard to tell where he is looking. For example, when Whiskey looks at you, his electric blue cat eyes stare deep into your soul. Lochie’s eyes are also blue, but I cannot tell where he is focusing. Lochie’s cries are subdued, and I am certain his different cries mean different things. I think I have begun to discern among cries for hunger, gas, reflux, cold, insecurity (the need to be cuddled.) He hates being cold. Despite my nappy warmer, he cries during nappy changes. We have used a “gentle-sound” pet hairdryer to warm him up, but it is not always effective. Maybe being horizontal results in painful reflux. Maybe he associates the change table with discomfort.

The minutes tick slowly. MCH pamphlets rattle off many envigorating ways you can engage with your one-month-old: bicycling legs, folding and unfolding arms, reading a book, shaking a rattle, singing a song, making facial expressions, tummy time (what baby doesn’t love face-planting into fresh drool?) The list leaves FTMs wondering what to do with baby for the remaining 23.5 hours. But when I’m breastfeeding, I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing, and it is the most guilt-free time-out that a mother can hope for. And so today, the minutes slowly ticked on, as I court-jestered around my baby, propping him from one activity to the next, from baby swing to tummy time, from indoor cuddles to outdoor bird watching.

And then it happened… the sweetest of sweet moments… Lochie pulled towards the boob! That desperate crying that accompanies a baby’s rooting is the cutest and most endearing sound I have ever heard. We sat in the courtyard with the sun warming my back as I shielded Lochie from direct sunlight. He had the right boob, then the left boob. It was idealic. For complete happiness, I invited Whiskey to join us. (I promise you, my husband, that sneaky cat escaped on his own.) Whiskey chewed on some grass, then went to check on Don in the garage. The garage was in its usual chaotic abandoned-house state, the kind that appeals to bachelors and cats, and Whiskey and Don had quality cat-bro time. And in that moment, our family was in a state of perfect harmony.

Lochie has now passed out in my arms. Some people say that holding a child spoils him, and accustoms him to sleeping in your arms and does not teach him to self-settle. But newborns are unable to self-settle. From her book, The First Six Weeks, Midwife Cath’s phrase keeps playing on mind mind: “The time really does go quickly, and before you know it, you have a toddler.” I reflect on how quickly Whiskey grew up. It was supposed to take 7 months from newborn kitten to cat, but he grew overnight. So I hold my baby that little bit longer. I let him linger on my boob after a feed. I really try to savour these sweet moments. The only thing getting in the way is the occasional breakdown due you to lack of sleep and the challenge that a lot of crying brings.