Week One: The Finley Files

My dearest Finley,

Nipple shields and sitz baths and "push, push, push!"

Oh, my.

What a whirlwind.

I decided to steal Heather Armstrong (dooce.com)'s fabulous idea of writing letters to her daughter, to one day be read by you. You'll probably hate them as a teenager, but one day, you just may become a mother, and then you'll understand why women with babies are obsessed with poop. I myself rejoice every time you do it, praise you on the beautiful ochre shade you've chosen to defecate in, realize how clever you are to curdle the milk as it passes through your body...

See? Gross. But I get it now. You are my life, my darling. I see the future in your steel blue eyes and all that jazz.

Those three days in the hospital with you were heaven. Sure, my mothe r had to help me pee and shower, and the thought of pooping haunted me like some creepy shadow in an alley. But the nurses in the nursery even agreed: you were an exceptionally beautiful baby, with a strong personality and good newborn manners. (I assume that means you didn't bully another infant out of his blanket.)

Nights at the hospital were spent staring at you while you slept. I should have been sleeping while you were safely in the nursery, but I didn't. I couldn't. I was mesmerized. It's so odd to meet someone for the first time... but be thinking, "It's you. Of course it's you."

So. Wednesday you came home, and I was frazzled for those first two nights. I wouldn't sleep when you slept unless there was someone to watch you. Blame all those ads for SIDS awareness that I watched during 9 months of pregnancy. I. Couldn't. Sleep. The high I felt in the hospital slowly started to wear off, and Thursday night I hit a wall. I was in so much pain from the delivery (which was a normal, healthy delivery--I can't imagine having one with complications or problems). I was exhausted. I had to feed you every 2 hours, because you came out into this world a pretty natural nurser.

Aunt Hannah and Aunt Reilly took you after you ate and told me to shower and get some rest. In that shower, I asked myself: Self, do you really think you can pull this off? Why are you even trying? Motherhood is difficult, Finley. I'm only a week in and already I can feel myself unraveling. But while threads of sanity come undone, they are spun into something else--and as soon as I got out of the shower, I ran to you, woke you up, and looked in your sweet face. You locked eyes with me. I'm your favorite person. And then I was calm.

This mothering thing is a trip, Fin. But so, so worth it.

This week, you have:

Gotten a belly button

Used about 12 diapers a day

Had three sponge baths (hated the first two, kinda liked the third when you realized it was warm water)

Scratched your eye twice to the point of infection and green goop

Possibly gotten conjunctivis in the other eye

Started smiling in your sleep

Gone to pick out your first Christmas tree

Been sung Christmas carols while you nurse (now if I don't, she looks at me pointedly, like, "perform, please, jester")

Charmed many visitors and neighbors

Farted in Hannah's face when she was checking your diaper (your cute cheeks even jiggled)

Done 1 nude photo shoot

Captured a hundred hearts

Perfected many animal imitations, including elephant, wild hog, guinea pig, eagle, and of course, cricket

Brought tears to my eyes and taken my breath away when you make eye contact while nursing

Worn 3 pairs of leg warmers and 1 pair of Converse

Had your first Kneaders brownie (through mommy's milk, of course, but you're hooked)

Made two families grow closer and my world a little smaller

Finners, you're a dear. You came out with this sweet, stoic personality and it shines through. You like to give out smiles (though they're not social, I like to think you know what you're doing). You are very patient when Mommy the bonehead muffs up breastfeeding. Your favorite place to sleep is in my arms, and lately, I can't get to sleep without you in them.

I love you, Finley Mae. So happy you graced me with your presence here. Without you, life just isn't as fun.

Until next week... Keep using your neck muscles. Practice, practice, practice!

Love always,

Mommy

P.S. Could you try to poop on Daddy one of these days? Thanks.