Why do we all say it, us Mamas? “How can it be…that a month has already passed?” Because, girl, I am not kidding or exaggerating when I say that time passes immeasurably quicker when you become a Mama. Time slips between your fingers like the coarse, warm sand from the widest beach, the most ancient ocean.
A month ago you were within my womb, preparing to traval a wild journey to meet me and your Daddy and sister. A month ago I closed my eyes in between a surge, imagined you awakened and peaceful, and whispered “Baby, I love you. Baby, I trust you. Baby, let’s do this.” A month ago I heaved and moaned and sighed as you slid into your Daddy’s awaiting and eager arms. A month ago, with your fresh body to my bursting heart, I finally realized I’d always known you. Yes, you were always here…and here…and even here. A month ago I never could have forseen that – moments after holding your skin to mine – my heart would instantly carve out even MORE space for you to nestle in.
Yesterday, I held you on my shoulder and swayed with you, out of the blue singing “You Send Me” and standing gingerly in the precise spot in which you were born. And it occured to me that you were both conceived and birthed in the very same space, the same room, under the canopy of the deepest love. You may someday read this and think “Gross!”, but I hope you can also appreciate how profound and special it indeed is.
Indi, your benevolent spirit permeates my being, transfuses my often anxious energy into that of gratitude. Really, you are full of gentle grace. And how I adore having girls who are vastly different energies, although I know not what flower you may bloom into: one girl as tart (my favorite “taste-sense”) as a juicy lemon, as capricious as a firecracker, as self-assured as the proud and mighty lioness, as trusting as the law of gravity. The other – you – as tranquil as the mid-summer stream, as powerful as the best-kept secret, as eternal as the desert night sky, as forgiving as my most favorite pair of jeans. Oh, and as truly sweet as honey from the bee. I await the lessons you both have to teach me; help keep me malleable and open to them.
In terms of meeting your needs, you are an easy baby to understand. I’ve figured out that your fussy time is between 7 – 9pm and we have to work a bit harder to keep you happy happy joy joy. However, we’ve managed to avoid giving you a binky!!! Mostly, you are quite patient, often settling down immediatly once you are simply held in arms. Laying upon my chest, you are most content; totally a snuggly bug. And I was pleased to find out that you gloriously hang out and snooze in the Moby wrap for hours. So, I can actually blog. And eat. And make an occiasional phone call. You do, however, really prefer being held. If I try to put you down in your bassinet for a nap, you typcially protest and I relent. You are different than your sister was in this way; her most always preferring her own space to rest in. It’s taken some time to get used to and I’m working on surrending to your needs. Keep me grounded, keep me (mostly) unruffled. Mostly, I ask that you help keep me honest.
Your symphony of grunts, moans, calls, coos, and sqeaks are endearing; most of which occur while you sleep. I cannot believe your repitoire, some of which your Daddy and I have attempted to catalogue. There’s the sqeuaky wheel, the creaking door hinge, the just-awakened-from-hibernation bear growl, the air being sqeezed from an accordian, the newborn cat mewing, the lip smacker, the puttering engine of an old beater car attempting to turn over, the squealling little piggy, and the peeping chick. When accompanied with pursed lips, crinkly eyes, and stretching arms, and a wriggly bean body, the sound effects are made complete.
Speaking of sleeping, your bed of choice is ours. It’s where you want to be, your nest, passing out comfortably for a few hours at a time, waking for some mama-milk and periodically puncturing the silence with a burp or a flow of spit up. Sweet Indi, our full-sized bed is too small for me, you, Daddy, and the occasional puffiness of our cat. We plan on invensting in a bed fit for a King (although I will most definately still be the Queen, little princess). I cannot tell you how magical our kingdom is with you snuggled beside us in bed. You seem so grown up with your fuzzy, palm-sized head upon our pillows. Your cuddle close, exchanging breath with ours, your mostly bare feet dancing upon our backs. I nurse you laying down, a trick I finally figured out months into my nursing relationship with Kaia. Oh the sweet laziness of never having to sit up at night, the both of us drifting off casually mid-session.
The only thing about nursing is that you are uttrly overwhelmed by my forceful let-down. You come off and get sprayed in the face and ears and hair, covering you in a fine white mist of breastmilk. I have to apply some pressure to stop it while you wait ever so patiently (most of the time) and then we resume our reguarly scheduled nursing program. Like your big sis, you are an intense spitter-upper and I cannot tell you how many towels, bibs, burp clothes, and sets of onesies we go through in a day. It’s finally evening out a bit, as I’ve learned to pace your feedings. Early on, I found myself changing my clothes at least 3 three times a day, but finally got clued in and decided to remain in various states of undress most of the day. Honestly, I’d forgotten how crazy this part of new-mamahood is; the leaking milk and spit up. It consumes our lives, covers every surface and body part, soaks our sheets, forcing me to sleep with a doubled up towel under my chest. It’s what I did with Kaia too and thankfully it ends after…uhhh, a few months?
You really are a forgiving baby, demonstrating this when I have to leave you momentarily to change your sister’s diaper and put her down for a nap. You cry out for me while laying on your blanket in front of the sliding glass door, but half of the time you stop after a minute. When I finally come to your rescue you gaze up at me with round, glassy eyes that seem to express “It’s OK, mama, I can wait for you”. And you rarely cry in the car – WOW – making that a first time experience for your Mama (your sister was a voracious car-seat wailer). And you’ve dealt well with your sister’s occasional jealously, in which her gentle touch turns a big rogue, or when a toy is lobbed against your noggin. Yes, I’ve become mama-bear firce and protective, all while trying to be sensitive to your sister’s tender heart. She really has done remarkably well adjusting to sibling-land and I often catch her tickling your toes, patting your head, or being the first to hear you whimper in the bed, proclaiming “Uh oh, baby cry!”. I hope you both will traverse this Earth together, getting into some healthy trouble and uncovering the mysteries of youth. You will most certainly fight over clothes and boys, I’m sure.
And your Daddy…he cannot get enough of you, remarking how much of a perfect little being you are. He makes up cute nicknames for you, burps you like no other, and says your lips look like little gummy worms after you nurse (he’s right!). He is over the moon that you sleep with us, always one for wanting a warm little body snoozing next to him. H’s still getting to know you, though, and finding out how to best nurture and soothe you. I’m excited to see how your relationship will bloom and morph. He’s a good guy, a doting papa, and I think you two have more in common than I know.
Indi, thank you for releasing your wisdom slowly for me, allowing me to be a seeker of it at my own pace. I welcome the slow-down at this point in me life; I want to savor every moment of it. Of you. Of us.
And truly: “Darling you send me… you thrill me…honest you do, honest you do.”
I love you!
P.S. How could I have forgotten to mention your hilarious male-pattern baldness? Oh yah, girlfriend, you’ve got the baldy fuzz on top and the looooong hair on the sides and in the back. Poor thing…let’s hope it grows out soon.