6 weeks

Well, yesterday Gwen turned six weeks old. So we're done with the "postpartum period." Not quite sure how that changes anything, but milestones are points to reflect if nothing else. I've been blessed to spend the last six weeks getting to know this little one and figuring her out, as well as learning so much about myself and James in the process. We all three still have a lot of growing to do, but I wanted to talk about some of the things in which I've found the most these first six weeks . . .

I love the little blonde patch on the top of her head. We first noticed it a day or two after she was born - a little golden patch on her dark, downy head. I watch as her hair grows and regularly check to make sure I can still find that little sunshine lock. I hope I'll still be able to see it when her hair is down past her shoulders.

I love her beautiful eyes. They're a steel grey-blue, serious and always looking around, watching and learning from the hour she was born. I could spend hours staring into those little orbs, a pair of blue-tinged slices of black olives, with just a hint of downturn at the corners to form teardrops like her father's eyes.

I love the curve of her back when I drape her over my knees (especially when she's gassy) and how she resembles a little sack of flour with arms and legs. It's especially gratifying to rhythmically pat her bottom and back like a set of baby bongos, both for my comfort and for hers.

I love breastfeeding her. It was a struggle at first but has become a wonderful bonding time for us. She drinks and I hold her, then she gets all sleepy and I keep tickling her to wake her enough so she gets enough to drink. When she's so sleepy that even my tickling doesn't rouse her, often she'll slip off the nipple and just cradle her head on my breast, letting out a contented sigh as she slumbers on. I'm grateful for the pump and the freedom it offers, especially assuring that she gets enough to eat before bedtime and in the middle of the night (so she doesn't wake up hungry an hour later), and she'll need to take the bottle when I'm back to work, but I now understand why women say they just love breastfeeding. It offers reaffirmation that I am indeed her mother; anyone can plug the baby with a bottle, but only her mother can feed her directly from her body. (I also love how I'm able to eat whatever I want because she's sucking the fat right out of me, but that's the selfish side of it all.)

I love seeing her smile. She started smiling for real yesterday (at least that's what I'm telling myself - it seemed intentional) and it just lit up my day. I found myself cooing and talking to her just to try and cajole another smile out of her. This morning, she was sleeping after nursing and I could tell she was dreaming because she lit up in a big smile and then let out her first laugh. I wish I knew what it was in her dream that was so funny, because I'd move heaven and earth to replicate it and hear that laugh again with her face lit up in her sunny smile.

And what have I learned about myself over these last six weeks?

I've learned that I am capable of waking in the middle of the night, every night, sometimes multiple times, to care for my child. I've never been a person who was very responsive to the idea of the middle of the night - my sleep is sacred and I'm a bear when woken. But I suppose when it's mama bear, she doesn't mind being woken quite so much. Now, that's not to say that I can survive on less sleep for very long, and were James not there to offer to take the odd night-shift here and there I'd be in a world of hurt, but that being said, I've found that I'm more capable than I once thought. Of course, the fact that our daughter has apparently inherited my love of sleep and usually only wakes once or twice to fill her small stomach makes those few interruptions of my precious slumber all the more tolerable.

I've learned that I'm actually pretty good at this whole motherhood thing. Granted, I have yet to take on the greatest challenge of balancing work and home life, as well as the challenges of once she develops needs greater than food and diaper changes, but that's why they come out needing the simple things (albeit they need them all the time) and their needs grow as they do, expanding to discipline, language, social skills, and so on. I think I'm doing pretty well with the basics so far. And, as I predicted, I've found that I enjoy doing these things for her that she can't yet do for herself. My real dread is when she tries to learn about humor and conversational skills. Then I'll pass her over to Daddy.

I've learned to love Gwen more than I ever thought possible, and know that that love will only grow greater and greater over the coming months and years. When I first married James, I loved him, but looking back on the last five years with him, I realize that our love has grown and matured exponentially beyond what I ever thought possible, and that said love still has the potential to grow from here. When Gwen was first born, I adored her and felt a strong connection, but I was also exhausted and overwhelmed and honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into with this whole motherhood thing. I spent the first month feeling like a long-term babysitter, wondering when her real parents would come to pick her up. I'd wake in the middle of the night to this little squeaking creature and look over in mild surprise thinking, "What, you're still here?" This little girl has brought about a dramatic change in our lives and it took some getting used to. As things began to sink in that she's really ours and is here to stay (hopefully not until she's 35, though), I began to allow myself to fall more and more in love with her. I gave myself permission to be silly with her, and to talk to her even when she's asleep. As the walls came down, affection and admiration turned into love and adoration. I often remind myself that she's mine, and let myself love her a little more each time.

How could I not love that little pixie fairy?