So we’ve emerged from under the pile of tissues, empty Sudafed blister packs and honey-laced herbal tea to find that it’s February and you’re two months old. January was not fun. Don’t worry, we don’t blame you. We pretty much blame day care for any sickness or bad habits.
For the moment, we are all rather healthy or more healthy than we’ve been since Christmas and I’ll admit it’s nice to hold you and not be reminded of a wheezing Studebaker engine or have you cower in fear when we lay you on your back because you are afraid we’re once again going to try to suck your brain out with that dreaded blue bulb.
The only downside to all this apple-cheeked vibrancy is that I now feel compelled to get up and check on your breathing six times a night because I can no longer hear your rattling chest through the walls. I was told the second child was supposed to cure that irrational ‘is my child still breathing’ fear? Guess you’re stuck with my constant fear and paranoia. I expect it will last awhile. Probably your whole life. Sorry.
Speaking of the middle of the night, while it’s a small sample, the last two weeks have shown signs of promise for your sleeping. Once we push through your fussy hours (7-9 at night), you are usually sleeping pretty solidly from 10 pm on, for four or five hour stretches.
We will get the official word on Friday when you go for your check-up (and dreaded first shots, again sorry), but from my viewpoint (that would be the diaper and spit-up view) you are doing quite well. You’re eating well and taking bottles without a fuss. You tolerate your sister’s hugs (which need to be supervised because they border on MMA choke holds) and your furry brother’s very wet and very insistent kisses.
Sadly, just when you’re starting to smile, gurgle and recognize that you have arms and legs, the 24/7 Allison Show will be put on hiatus as we need to go back to work to afford those day care bills. Yes, we recognize the vicious circle of irony.
Things we learned this month:
- You have a specific poop face and it strikes fear in our hearts
- You spit up much more than your sister and your favorite target is Momma
- Still losing your hair
- No definitive word on the eye color other than they are much darker than Cecilia’s. In some lights, they look the deep, chocolate brown of your handsome father and in others, they look like the crazy hazel of a barnyard cat.
Here are some updated photos when one of us was healthy enough to lift the camera.