Initial Impressions

by Ashley Weeks Cart

She’s been on the outside for over one whole day and I feel more than comfortable making the following claims.

While I know 8 lbs is nothing shabby, Courtland feels so very petite and even more helpless than Sunny did when she was brand new. Accordingly, my protective mommy instincts are in overdrive. I just want to have her pressed against my chest all day so I can feel her breath and soak up all that infant sweetness.

Breastfeeding is hard. Even though I breastfed Addison successfully for nearly a year that has not made feeding Courtland any easier. We’re struggling. We’re frustrated. But dang it, we are going to figure it out. And in the meantime, I’ll fruitlessly curse biology for my soft boobs and short nipples, and for her compromised palette. Our little girl is tongue tied. We are going to see a pediatric dentist next week to get some whitening teeth solution and have her gum tendons lasered so that she can fully move her tongue. I can blame this particular issue on her daddy who had his tongue clipped at age 10.

The crazy, huge big toes she’s rocking? All her mama’s fault.

Fingers crossed it’ll be an easy-ish fix and will make latching a breeze in post-restricted tongue life.

Also on the physical front, this kid has the longest, most beautiful fingers and, more importantly, nail beds. Yes, you read correctly. I’m jealous of Courtland’s nail beds. It was one of my earliest observations and envies, in fact.

I like that James and I produce hairy babies. Highly adorable. And a conversation starter for sure. Much like with her sister, “That hair!” seems to be the first words out of everyone’s mouths when they first see her.

She is notably more particular and fussy than Sunny was as an infant. Not that I’m surprised as everyone warned that the next baby couldn’t possibly be as easy as her big sister. We’re trying to show her how awesome life is on the outside. Until she shares in that sentiment, we’ve armed the household with ear plugs. Girl can yell.

Her favorite waking hours are 2-6am. And she sleeps like the dead all day. James and I are taking notes on survival from the local raccoons. Except those critters don’t have other offspring that will demand attention and play during daylight.

Assholes.

Mostly, I didn’t believe my heart had room and yet it’s expanded in size ten-fold in less than 48 hours. From the labor to her delivery to the first moment I held her in my arms to the first time I watched her big sister hold her in her arms to seeing the man I fell in love with 8 years ago rock our daughters together in his arms, I’ve felt my chest balloon and learn a new capacity for and meaning of love.

Yes, I’m drunk off a cocktail known as postpartum hormones. How can you tell? However cheesy and cliche and annoying and hormone-fueled it may sound, I’ve never felt more filled with life. More grateful. And more at peace.

And that’s saying a lot given the padding in this mesh underwear and the fluid I’m managing on an hourly basis from myself and an 8 lb dependent. Peace wouldn’t normally be the first word that comes to mind.

Thank you, Courtland, for teaching your Mama more in one day than I could ever dream of teaching you in a lifetime.

But dang it, I’m sure going to try.

I love you.

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