One month. The boy has been here for one month. It has both seemed to go by very fast, and so very not fast.
One of the best moments has been to see first hand how he has no idea he has arms, hands, legs...and that once he grabbed his own hair, causing him to scream in pain, and thus grab harder. Wash, rinse, repeat for a solid minute until I could pry his fingers open to release his crazy grip. The kid is really strong already, which is both gratifying and scary, because the ever-present fear that I might drop him gets exaggerated when he squirms while I'm holding him. It scares. The. Crap. Out of me sometimes.
Let's talk about poop. I never knew (though have heard tales) that poop could be such a sigh of relief. Sure, for adults it absolutely can, but we generally don't text each other saying "We have poop!". That text was one of the best texts I have ever received, because we were going on well over 24 hours since the last sighting. As a proud owner of a buttocks, I can tell you that 24 hours is a lifetime for me. I hear rumor that's not the case for everyone, but when it's what you know, empathy panic can set in pretty quickly.
We've taken to calling him the Ravenous Chipmunk, because when he's ready for food, and rooting around for the Holy Nipple, his actions can best be described as a ravenous chipmunk: anxious snorting and bobbing of the head to find sustenance. Couple this with his internal clock (which is apparently on New Zealand time), and you have for some amused, but worn out, parents.
I have to say, now one month in: I have no idea how our species has survived. This is the hardest thing I have done. We have had tremendous help from both sets of grandparents, and yet I have experienced exhaustion that bordered on delirium, and fatigue that manifests itself as flu symptoms. And this is just my perspective from the partner side of things. How single mothers do this is beyond my comprehension.
Okay, enough for tonight. The Chipmunk is showing signs of being sleepy.