10 Weeks Later

So, Millie is 10 weeks old. Blows the mind. She survived her first Thanksgiving amidst the quiet of Westerly and the chaos of Palmer. A taste of how differently her parents grew up, indeed. The picture of my mom holding her is truly representative of her first 10 weeks. She's a stinker about sleeping without being held. She's charmed her father into co-sleeping for some of the night, something I SWORE I would never do. She sleeps better, we sleep better, but it's one more bad habit to break. She's sleeping on my chest at the moment after sleeping on her own for a total of 20 minutes. I'm the worst mom ever.

That last statement is supported by the spill I took in Babies R Us last week with her in the Baby Bjorn. I tripped over an end cap display and fell forward. Thankfully, my instincts kicked in and one hand went up to stabilize her. Two bruised kneecaps and a damaged pride later, I managed to haul my fat arse up off the ground, gather my packages from the concerned crowd that had gathered, and staggered into the clothes racks to cry with relief/pain. I shouldn't be allowed out of the house.

She is most definitely advanced (haha) (no, seriously, she is) (really). She's grabbing things with purpose, including fistfuls of my hair when I try to put her in her crib. She's up to 12 lbs., 14 oz. and 23 1/4"...breastmilk agrees with her, apparently. In the land of the giant heads, she is thankfully only in the 80% of skull sizes. It is covered in a baby mullet, the color of which changes on a daily basis. Redhead or not seems to be the question on everyone's mind. I started her on breastmilk in a bottle in anticipation of going back to school. I cried like a freak while Iain gave it to her, but I'm relieved she took it.

Stay tuned for more. Hopefully it won't take me another 7 weeks to write. Happy holidays.