I had forgotten. I’d forgotten how small newborns are. I’d forgotten that they make strange little squeaks and snorts. I’d forgotten that they don’t have a very loud cry, and that their single purpose is to eat. (Yes, they sleep too, but they sleep only if their single need — to eat — has been met, and they sleep only to gather the strength to empatically request their next meal.)
I’d also forgotten that a newborn has no respect for night and day, and that despite the fact that their cry is not loud, it is impossible to ignore. There is no restful sleep in the house of the hungry infant.
June was, even in the womb, alarmingly active at night. For months before she was born, if I came to bed after Lisbeth was asleep, I’d crawl into bed very slowly and carefully. Not for fear of waking Lisbeth, but for fear of waking the yet-unknown creature within. Virtually every time, the baby would start kicking, sometimes waking up her mother in the process.
So it’s no surprise that we’ve been up at all hours of the night. And I don’t know if it makes it better or worse that, for the most part, she sleeps peacefully between feedings during the day.
I’d also temporarily forgotten that I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t neglect to take plenty of pictures of all of my children — not just the first. I had to be reminded by my smart-ass brother Ben, who wrote to me and ask if my camera was broken.
No, as you can see, my camera is not broken. But it doesn’t seem to work as well as when Ellen was born.
Recent Comments