Here're some pics taken awhile back. He's a lot rounder and bigger now. His next checkup is this Thursday - anyone wanna hedge some bets on his weight?!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Some pics
Here're some pics taken awhile back. He's a lot rounder and bigger now. His next checkup is this Thursday - anyone wanna hedge some bets on his weight?!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Until Now
Until I became a mum, I don’t think I fully understood the enormity of it all. To have someone, so little, completely entrusted into your care, completely dependent and needy of you, is…challenging to say the least. Painful, to be exact.
I thought my natural instincts would kick in – I was so looking forward to this! Oh the arrogance of the ignorant – to think EG and I nodded to ourselves when our friends complained of their little one, and said, “we’ll never speak of our child and his infancy with such despair or complaint – we must always speak with hope and faith.” Such lofty ideals! I tumble in and out of despair each day, with each feed, each cry. Joy if he sleeps past the hour, exuberance if he naps for two! The malaise of self-doubt sets in with every whimper and piercing yell he makes – what did I do wrong? What’s happening with him? Why won’t he stop? And exhaustion kicks in, and I spiral, and cry as he cries, my tears dropping quicker than his rhythmic screams.
What a tumultuous nine weeks it has been. Feeds and sleeps (or lack there of), cries and sushes, routines and diversions. We had quickly relinquished our need to withhold the pacifier from him – oh the joy of discovering the baby Mute button! I wonder, daily, guiltily, if my complaints are merely because he is not a convenient baby, because he doesn’t quite go by the book.
Every time he smiles, the type that reaches his eyes and crinkles his entire face, every time he gurgles and sticks his little tongue out in a game of mimicry with him (I copy him), I melt. I melt and wonder if I’m doing right by him. I hope I’m doing right by him. I hope I’m up to the task to educate and raise a child, this child, with reading and playtime and paying wholehearted attention. I wish I weren’t so shallow to look at my expanded body and wish it weren’t. I wish I could stop feeling so tired and regretful of giving birth. I wish I hadn’t set such high expectations of myself, still having them, still letting them kick me in the head.
His quiet cry
His quiet song
His rest
His peace
His light
And bliss
Bearable
Incomprehensible
Reflecting images of despair
Yet mournful with joy
Touched with new life
My life
My love
aidan
I thought my natural instincts would kick in – I was so looking forward to this! Oh the arrogance of the ignorant – to think EG and I nodded to ourselves when our friends complained of their little one, and said, “we’ll never speak of our child and his infancy with such despair or complaint – we must always speak with hope and faith.” Such lofty ideals! I tumble in and out of despair each day, with each feed, each cry. Joy if he sleeps past the hour, exuberance if he naps for two! The malaise of self-doubt sets in with every whimper and piercing yell he makes – what did I do wrong? What’s happening with him? Why won’t he stop? And exhaustion kicks in, and I spiral, and cry as he cries, my tears dropping quicker than his rhythmic screams.
What a tumultuous nine weeks it has been. Feeds and sleeps (or lack there of), cries and sushes, routines and diversions. We had quickly relinquished our need to withhold the pacifier from him – oh the joy of discovering the baby Mute button! I wonder, daily, guiltily, if my complaints are merely because he is not a convenient baby, because he doesn’t quite go by the book.
Every time he smiles, the type that reaches his eyes and crinkles his entire face, every time he gurgles and sticks his little tongue out in a game of mimicry with him (I copy him), I melt. I melt and wonder if I’m doing right by him. I hope I’m doing right by him. I hope I’m up to the task to educate and raise a child, this child, with reading and playtime and paying wholehearted attention. I wish I weren’t so shallow to look at my expanded body and wish it weren’t. I wish I could stop feeling so tired and regretful of giving birth. I wish I hadn’t set such high expectations of myself, still having them, still letting them kick me in the head.
His quiet cry
His quiet song
His rest
His peace
His light
And bliss
Bearable
Incomprehensible
Reflecting images of despair
Yet mournful with joy
Touched with new life
My life
My love
aidan
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