1m2aSandbox

While we are not a co-sleeping family, sometimes there’s nothing more delicious than spending the morning dozing together, and I’ll occasionally get up to nurse Maddie at 7 or 8 and bring her back into bed with us for a few more minutes.  Recently one morning the three of us were snuggling lazily in bed, Madeleine in between us cooing contentedly and looking back and forth happily between Daddy and me.  No one had spoken much yet; Brian and I were desultorily discussing the coming day and murmuring endearments to Baby Girl.  Suddenly she broke from her cooing to launch into an excited and enthusiastic monologue, complete with hand gestures and intense eye contact.  She wasn’t looking at either of us, though; she was speaking intently to a spot on the ceiling.  And when she finished, she broke into peals of laughter, chuckling and bouncing for several seconds before looking back at us, for all the world as if to say, “I’m sorry – where were we then?”
 
Brian looked at me and said, “I’d give anything to know what joke she just told.”

I got the afternoon “off” today to go see a show, and my husband and daughter walked me to the subway station as they do most every evening that I teach.  I kept sneaking glances at my husband as we walked; he was looking pretty fine in his wool peacoat and cute knit hat.   The accessory that makes him look the hottest, though, isn’t a piece of clothing.
 
It’s the stroller.

Four days after my daughter was born my milk came in, and with it came the hormones.  I found myself crying for a whole week for no apparent reason, unable to stop myself.  I was just sad and couldn’t find a way out of it.  I had supportive friends and family around me that got me through it, and fortunately for me, one day, I just wasn’t sad any more.
 
Before I left the hospital, my OB came in and had a very matter-of-fact conversation with me and Brian about what to expect in the coming week.  She talked through feelings I would have and the ways my hormones would send me up and down, and told me it was all very natural.  Then she told us both things to look for that might signal post-partum depression: thoughts I might have, things I might want to do.  She made sure we understood the difference between normal baby blues and post-partum depression, and encouraged me to call if I had any doubts or just wanted to talk.  She armed Brian with information so he didn’t feel so helpless and nervous about the unknown.  As I went through my week of baby blues, Brian gently checked in with me, making sure I was ok, listening to me talk about everything from what a bad mother I’d be to how I’d never be thin again.  He’d calmly ask if I wanted to call my OB but trusted me when I said I was ok.  My girlfriends were there for me (see previous post) and I came out the other side shaken but back to normal (well, newborn mommy normal).

I had the best possible scenario: a supportive husband, a knowledgeable and hands-on OB, and great support network around me, and best of all, I didn’t get post-partum depression.  I’m aware of how lucky I am, and that what I experienced was nothing compared to what many women go through with PPD.  Post-partum depression is a serious illness and I don’t want to make light of it, and since I’ve never had it I didn’t feel qualified to speak on the subject.  But I have had a couple readers ask me to talk about it, so I here goes.

Madeleine’s got a new favorite toy, and all others pale in comparison.  The toy provides hours of fun, keeps her constantly enthralled and moving, and causes her to peal with laughter and get a great workout all at the same time.  Unfortunately for you, I won’t be linking to the wonder toy, because said wonder toy is Mommy.
 
I am now literally lying down and letting my daughter walk all over me.

Madeleine began making vocal noises (other than cries!) around ten weeks of age.  One of the first sounds out of her mouth was “mumumumumum”, and I was convinced it was only a matter of days before she associated those sounds with the face eagerly looming over hers every time she made them.  I knew I had a child genius on my hands.
 
Alas, it was not so.  Her “words” have yet to have any known association with a specific object or idea.  Her verbalizations, however, have grown far beyond “mumumum” and now encompass what might be considered a complex language in its own right.

Recently I was chatting with a childless friend, lamenting Madeleine’s speedy growth out of babyhood.  “Tell me again when her birthday is?” my friend queried.  “She’ll be seven months in two days!  Can you believe it?” I responded.  My friend burst out laughing.  “I meant, when is her year birthday!”  She laughed, claiming I knew at any given moment exactly how many days old Madeleine is.  I’m going to plead the 5^th on that one.
 
But how can I not keep such a close watch on her growing up?  I’m all too well aware of the days slipping through my fingers as she runs from babydom to toddlerhood.  Each month is so different from the one before: learning to smile, learning to sleep through the night, recognizing different people, discovering her feet and the ability to blow raspberries are just a few of the milestones that she’s left in the dust.  When she turned 7 months recently I marveled at how different she is already from the 6-month-old she was.  For a mommy’s heart, 7 months is the start of a downhill slide towards 1 year, a far cry from the safe perch of 6 months smack in the middle of the calendar. 
 
And if six months was all about perpetual discovery and joy in all new things, being 7 months is all about the will.