Sorry for the lack of posts, but as you will see, I’ve had my hands a bit full this week.
On Wednesday, 10 March, the community midwife dropped by again and weighed Bean. All the shouting and fussing that ensued was rewarded with good news: Bean had put on another quarter-pound since arriving home from the hospital. She was nearly back to her birth weight!
On Thursday Mum went for her first walk by herself since Bean’s arrival. All those walks in Cofton Park with Bean’s Grandma M seemed to have happened years ago to someone else despite notes in Mum’s diary saying that they had in fact occurred a mere ten days in the past. Funny how there is a bright line across your life when a baby turns up in it.
On Friday Dad went down and registered Bean’s details at Town Hall. Bean now has an official birth certificate. We are working on getting her a passport so she can come to America with us in July to meet the other side of her family and also so Dad can have a Windmill hot dog, provided they still exist (edit: they do! huzzah!).
Also on Friday, the ten-day growth spurt began. Bean woke up and decided she simply could not go more than 90 minutes between feeds and that sleep was overrated. Mum now lives to nurse.
On Saturday Mum went to the gym. But only to go in the sauna. It was still glorious. Bean, meanwhile, discovered a dragonfly toy (selected for her by the lovely Emelia Barrera) hanging in her cot and learned that if you whack it, it makes an agreeable jingly noise.
While her motor skills make consistent toy-whacking difficult, Bean is nothing if not persistent. In fact since Saturday Mum has had to take the jingly toy out of the cot a few times because Bean, like a teeny tiny Mountain Dew-addled gamer, was forgoing sleep in favor of making the bell jingle, even when showing clear signs of tiredness. Mum wonders if Bean will share more than a birth date with cousin Tom.
On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa Judson dropped by for a brief visit with Bean. Many pictures were taken and Grandma J brought one of her fabulous chocolate cakes. Bean was dressed to impress, wearing a beautiful knitted cardigan that was made more than forty years ago in anticipation of a baby that turned out to be Bean’s Dad. Once Grandma and Grandpa were gone, Bean’s feeding frenzy continued.
On Monday the community midwife came by for the last time. She weighed Bean and was pleased to announce that Bean is now 7 lb 13 oz– 1 ounce over her birth weight. She then ruined the festive mood by telling Mum that because of the c-section, Mum shouldn’t run for THREE MONTHS.
This is like taking away a psych patient’s antidepressants or an addict’s methadone. This is going to make Mum NUTS. She was prepared to wait six weeks, but losing the best part of the year for running is causing some serious tooth-grinding and self-pity. In an effort to get over it like a grownup should, Mum keeps repeating to herself: I have a healthy baby. I have a healthy baby. And she does.
Mum and Bean are now under the care of the health visitor, who arrived after the midwife in a cloud of perfume, bearing pamphlets. The health visitor advised Mum about baby programs at the local library (that involve playing instruments or stories or crafts) and Mum advised the health visitor about places to visit in America, openly displaying her preference for Chicago over New York. Mum finds that recently, more Britons think of Chicago as a desirable place to visit. Why would that be?
On Tuesday, Bean turned two weeks old. She let Mum sleep a bit, which was nice of her, and began to show off her new noises just in time for a visit from the lovely Aunt Stephanie, who came round to practice reflexology on Mum and also did a bit of housework while Mum nursed Bean. Mum is seriously indebted to Aunt Steph and will have to learn deep-tissue massage or how to gold-leaf the plumbing or find a buyer for the flat or something when Steph is in a similar situation.
And Bean continues to grow and grow on us, now that she is two weeks old.