My baby is more than 2 months old. When I look at photos of her when she was brand new and helpless, she seems like a completely different baby. Now, she's a fun, interactive ball of energy with "smiles and crocodile-iles" as Dano says. I asked him what it means, and he wasn't sure. I figured since he made it up, he should know. I figured wrong, apparently.
Lilah's 2 month appointment was yesterday. She weighed 11lbs, 4oz. That's 3 pounds and an ounce in 2 months, and more than an ounce a day! She's 23 inches now, 3 more than last time. She charmed all the nurses and Dr. Hatfield. She more than met all her milestones, and she's in the 50th percentile for height, and 55th for weight. She's just a perfect little baby. Dr. Hatfield also explained a possible cause for Lilah's habit of throwing her head back and howling for a few minutes, completely unprovoked. She suspected a little bit of reflux - a little acid flaring up now and then, burning her throat. She said it will go away as her muscles mature.
My poor baby also got 4 shots. She was supposed to have 5, but we opted out of pertussis because of the risk of seizures later in life. It's part of the DTaP series, so she's still getting diphtheria and tetanus, but not until her next appointment. I felt like an absolute traitor holding her leg while the nurse stuck her. I watched her little face (staring at me trustingly) go from her normal expression of pleasantly amused to concerned to a scream so hard nothing came out for a few seconds. Then we did it 3 more times. I still tear up thinking about it. When the nurse was finished, she told me to take as much time as we needed calming down (she probably figured I needed just as much time as my daughter did), and to try feeding her. Lilah threw her arms around my neck and cried, and I cried with her, and told her I was sorry, and it was all over. She would eat for a few minutes, then scream when she tried to frog-kick her legs like she usually does. She wasn't too hard to console, but even today she's not my happy, cheerful baby. She's unusually morose and she cries for no reason. That's not my baby. She barely cries when something's wrong, let alone for no reason.
I've noticed a strange thing about my parenting. My guilt level is pretty high. I've heard all mothers feel guilt about odd things, but mine seems unusually high. Most likely I'm just crazy, but sometimes I think of all strong women who have come before us, the wonderful mothers who have spent their entire lives empowering their daughters to become great women and in turn, wonderful mothers themselves. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing penance for the women in my family. I feel ashamed of the bloodline I came from, especially because of the great women in my life now. Between my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, aunts, cousins, and friends, I have chosen to surround myself with women who are examples of strong, godly females and mothers. It's not feeling like I fall short of them. I *know* I'm capable of greatness, that I'm strong and empowered to do my job as a mother, regardless of the questionable stock I come from. Through some miracle, the crazy skipped a generation. I love my daughter and dedicated the next score of years to be her mother. To me, that doesn't just mean someone to feed, clothe, and educate her. There's more to motherhood than keeping your offspring alive. You can do the same thing with a goldfish, and that's no impressive feat. To me, motherhood means being her confidante when she wants, and not taking it personally when she likes her friends better. It means knowing someone else and I can say the exact same thing to her, and she'll look at me like I'm crazy when I say it, but it will be gospel coming from anyone else. It means biting my tongue when she "loves" a boy in school, listening to how great he is, and letting her cry the following week when it all falls apart. It means constant love, support, and equipping her for the greatness that's sure to follow my beautiful baby wherever she goes. I owe it to Gaiman's "Ladies of light, Ladies of darkness, and Ladies of never-you-mind. This is a prayer for a Blueberry Girl. First may you Ladies be kind...Help her to help herself. Help her to stand. Help her to lose and to find. Teach her we're only as big as our dreams. Show her that fortune is blind. Truth is a thing she must find for herself, precious and rare as a pearl. Give her all these, and a little bit more - gifts for a Blueberry Girl."
