This morning
At Freddie’s six-month checkup (a month ago), he had grown an inch-and-a-half since his four-month checkup, but only gained half a pound. In other words, he was leaning out, and not in a good way. Babies need body fat to grow, and Freddie was growing so fast and nursing so often that he was waking every two hours, day and night, and drinking 16 ounces of pumped milk during five hours of daycare three days a week. That level of nursing and pumping was impossible for me to keep up.
A few weeks ago, when that onesie was large on him.
We tried to feed him solid foods, but the little stinker would slam his lips shut and turn away from the spoon, no matter what food we gave him (he seemed to enjoy avocado ONE DAY, but the next promptly rejected it). Finally, finally, after a month of nursing like a newborn, he condescended to eat some solid foods.
“Lady, what is this shit?” (Notice excited me in the mirror, holding my ever-present cup of coffee because I AM EXHAUSTED.)
What a weird kid. He doesn’t like sweet potatoes, bananas, applesauce, pears, peas, carrots, plums, or squash. He adores refried beans and plain yogurt. At least he’s starting to chunk up again.
He’s starting to fill the onesie out again.
He’s happy, and even though he still nurses every two hours, all day, all night, I’m happy, too. His cheeks are coming back, and we all love to eat baby cheeks.
Concurrently, my hair is starting to grow back. Just in case you thought the indignities of pregnancy and birth stopped after the kid comes out, I’m here to say that you also get to lose a significant amount of hair and then put up with weird hairstyles as it grows out.
Shorties, all the way around my hairline.
Sigh. The things we do for our children.
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