Two Months

Ben is two months old now. Time is just flying by; where did the summer go? I spent the first half of it waiting for a baby to be born, and the second half recovering from his birth.

In my spare time (hahahahahahahaha!) I like to look back at the pictures we've taken since Ben was born. The photos of his birth are my favourites. They bring me back to that day, so vivid and so surreal in my mind. The first few photos remind that, when he was pulled out, blue and silent, I thought to myself, "Make a sound. Please. Please, cry." And then he did, and it was the most beautiful sound ever.

From pictures in Recovery, I remember the moment when my mother and mother-in-law met him for the first time, when they both became grandmothers.

I look at the pictures of him in the Isolette, under UV lights to treat his jaundice. I remember that he cried in there, that he hated it, and I couldn't take him out because he needed the lights, so I stood up most of the night next to him and stroked him so he would, maybe, hopefully, know that I was there.

I look at pictures from his first week and marvel at how small he was; how squishy his face, how round was his head. In these photos I see onesies and outfits that he has outgrown - clothes that I remember washing and hanging on the line in preparation for his arrival earlier this spring. In these photos I see his first moments: his first bath, his first car ride, his first meetings with aunts and uncles and cousins and friends.

When babies are born, people spend so much time looking forward. "Things will be better when he sleeps through the night." "Things will be better when he's nursing." "I can't wait to see what colour his eyes will be." "I can't wait for his first Christmas."

I have spent so much time looking back and looking forward to things; what strikes me most when I look at the photos is to wonder: Did I look at that moment when it was happening? Did I take it all in? Did I enjoy every precious second, or was part of me wishing to be somewhere else? Sadly, it's in my nature to be thinking of several things at once. I certainly did enjoy my son's first bath, but I probably rushed through it so I could put him to bed and then get myself there too.

These days, little Bento is grinning on the change table, cooing and gurgling as we converse on the couch. His eyes are still blue. His hair hasn't fallen out. He's slept through the night on a couple of occasions, both of which made me terrified initially, elated later. I'm on my own with him most days now, a huge responsibility. He's forgiving of my errors, thankfully, and is happy to cuddle down for a nap in the afternoon. He loves to go for walks, and his Dad is teaching him his repertoire of 80s tunes. We're venturing out most days at least once, on a walk to Starbucks, or to the grocery store, or, still, to the breastfeeding clinic. We're starting a program called "Stroller Fit" this week - it will probably be worth blogging about.

There are hard times, of course. The whole "Breastfeeding Saga" still consumes my life, and it's two steps forward and 400 steps back every time we make a breakthrough. I want to quit every single day. I don't know why I haven't yet. Sheer stubbornness, perhaps. I'm looking forward to announcing to the world that Ben's nursing.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to being present for every moment -- good or bad.