week 1: word snapshots.

feeding, feeding, feeding.  recording amounts and diaper changes and times.  my girl's days are recorded in ounces and wipes because every time i go somewhere, they ask me for the stats.

--

weird and perplexing postpartum symptom: swollen feet.  at first it was both feet and hands, but then it pretty much settled into my right foot.  one night, i joked that i was always going to have an elephant foot.  it's almost become a barometer of how much sleep i've gotten. when i hit four or five hours, the swelling goes down.

--

sweet dreamy dreaming smiles.  she, like her daddy, has an active sleep life.  those smiles make everyone laugh, promising mischievous and sweet conscious ones to come.

--

bad day, two days home: maggie refuses to eat from me.  pumping doesn't seem to work very well, since i have a manual pump, and she spits up most of the formula that we feed her.  i've never felt so desperate, so helpless, so anxious in my life.

we pray.  fervently. help us find an answer. 

knock on the door, not five minutes later.  someone with a pump to help us, someone with a story just like ours, someone with a can of formula in their car that worked for them.  someone who listened, someone who served, someone who literally answered our prayers.

my testimony grows. my gratitude exponentially increases.  hope returns.

--

rocking, swaying, soothing, trying to avoid the creaks in the floor. static on the radio all night long, husband asleep because class cones too early, light on, finally sleep for me.  soon a stereo sound of family love--baby fast breathing and settling into sleep sighs, husband with small snores.  i smile. 

--

fine baby hair, nearly mullet-y in the back, nuzzling up to my chin.  calm when she's near me, making me realize i have mommy magic.  best thing ever: my girl asleep on my chest.  bad sleep habits be darned: she does it every once in a while and when she does, the world seems a better place to be in.

--

falling asleep sitting up, shaken into consciousness, have never been so tired and yet still so able to carry on.  so tired of hearing people tell me to sleep.  "no one can sleep for you," someone said. yes.  no one can grade my papers or feed my baby either.  when i'm home alone, no one else can take care of my daughter.  so, exactly how am i supposed to sleep all of the time?  people need to learn to be quiet. 

but i still try to sleep more than i was.  averaging 2 hours a day is just not sustainable. 

--

milk production, fenugreek, nipple shields, lactation consultant.  deciding to just do the best we can, supplementing and praying for guidance.  finally, unexpected re-success: latching on without props! she did it almost herself, and we're still doing it.  we relearn things here, over and over, from how to eat to how to trust in ourselves and in Heavenly Father.

--

family scripture time, baby in the big bed, melting heart with the reality that this is what life is made for.

--

sometimes i forget how hard my delivery was.  sometimes when i get up, my body reminds me.  i'm still trying to figure out how to recover. logistically, it seems nearly impossible. yet, i think it's happening.



--

big bright violet eyes, looking all around, conversations about everything and anything, hoping to stimulate her brain.  singing songs with made-up lyrics, carrying on a family tradition.  i see myself literally reflected in her big eyes. i wonder what she thinks about me being the mom.  it still blows my mind.

--

late night rocking, hoping to get some sleep, but every night i say a prayer more fervent than the last night's.  bless my maggie. help her be healthy. help me to be strong. help me to be confident. help us to know what to do. help us to feel the Spirit. bring us peace.  my tears are always there, though not because i'm hormonal. something about late nights with a baby brings you closer to God than nearly anything else can. 

every night i feel the peace, every night my girl sleeps. every morning my girl wakes up and we do it again.

--

baby girl loves the car. she loved it when she was in my belly, and she loves it out of it too.  she cries only if she's hungry, and even then...she's still lulled to sleep by its rhythm. i am so grateful. trips to see grandma will be so much easier.

--

grandma here for two weeks. grandma here for maggie's birth.  grandma here to make memories and grandma here to be the voice of great wisdom.  grandma here to make sure we have all we need, from pizza to bottles to breast pumps to baked chicken.  we couldn't have done it without her. 

it's a miracle that she was able to be here as long as she was. i will never see it as anything other than that.  Someone knew, much better than i, how it was all going to go down...and made it infinitely easier for all of us. 

--

alone for not too terribly long, took too long to get a text to send my mom to pick up my husband.  baby screaming, for no apparent reason, can't even talk to my husband on the phone.  soon, we're both crying on the couch, though as soon as i do, my girl stops.  i pray, feel incredible peace that stops the tears, but when my mom and husband walk in, the waterworks begin again.

"there's not enough of me" i say through quiet sobs that are as much hormonal as they are a result of being overwhelmed.  too much to worry about, it seems--keeping musicboy well-rested for finals, finding time to grade a million things before the end of the semester, dealing with feeding issues and trying to increase my milk production, being told to sleep when it seems absolutely impossible to do so--and feeling alone and inadequate even though i am surrounded by people who love and care for and serve me every day. 

musicboy takes me in his arms, along with baby, and tells me that we're in it together.  no matter what, no matter how much he has to do, we come first.  he reminds me of our motto: we're going to make it.

knowing that makes me feel more secure. mom says, quietly, that we know what we're doing--and to trust ourselves.

it is a formative moment, i think. i feel myself turn a bit of a corner.  we are the parents.  we know what to do, even when we have no idea what to do.  we are the parents.  we know her best.