And baby makes three

It's been a long break but I've falsely convinced myself that I finally have the time and motivation to begin blogging again. Meaning it'll take me 2 days to get this post written and published and then I'll be back in 2 years when my life is more manageable.

For the time being, though, I finally finished baking that bun. He has four names and we call him Wolfie, which isn't a-one of them. Throughout my pregnancy I suffered from bad morning sickness, sciatica, a chronic shortness of breath (which made living on the third floor sweet), and gestational diabetes but the straw that broke the whale's back (har har) was when I developed the ridiculously rare cholestasis of pregnancy. My induction was scheduled and I was on a strict timeline to deliver him at exactly 37 weeks gestation.

That makes him two months old already. He is my excuse for not returning to my blog sooner. I knew newborns are supposed to be hard. Then one day I woke up and I realized, he's not a newborn anymore. The kid weighs 11lbs, is just about into 3-6mo size clothing, is already starting to roll over but I'm still his slave.

I made (make) a lot of excuses for Wolfie. He was early (37 weeks is technically full term but whatever). He's breastfed and breastfed babies are just like that. I'm a SAHM so it's my job. He's overtired. He has growing pains. He doesn't feel good. He's having a rough day. The truth is Wolfie screams and cries the second he is put down because he's a baby. The other truth is that's okay. Now I shall reread this paragraph 500 times per day and maybe someday it will sink it/I will believe it. Until then, I literally hold my child 17 hours per day. Papa holds him the other 7.