You are a sniffling, sneezing mess. We squirt saline drops up your nose and they dribble out and you wail. You've been spitting up more than usual too, so there are splotches of crusted milk on your sleeper and white lines of dry saline and snot below your nostrils.
I showered while alone in the house with you--for the very first time--today. You sat in the Sesame Street patterned reclining seat and stared at the shower curtain. Then you gurgled and smiled while I stood in pants and bra, green towel wrapped around my head, and explained how to put in contacts and how to apply blush. Then I took off the towel and let the wet ends of my hair tickle your cheeks. (The photo above is a few weeks old--but you get the picture)
The New Moms group is saving my life a little. Last night we sat around a conference table at the hospital and ate mini Kit-Kats and Reeces left over from Halloween and talked about emotions. Emily passed around a tuperware container filled with warm pumpkin bars and Jody talked about how her right breast is dry and empty and Audra talked about her teenage cousin holding Andrew, how she couldn't bear the sight, had to go into the kitchen and cry. And some of the moms hold their babies while they talk and some of the moms (like me) fold their arms over still-soft bellies because they have not brought a baby to hold on their laps, no baby to sit between them and the world.
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