I'm watching the early morning news in my bed, thinking about how I should probably get up -- a pretty typical weekday for me. However, this Thursday is different because right next to my bed is this sight, and it's blowing my mind:
Meet Charlie, everyone! He will be two weeks old tonight, and he is an absolute doll. Seriously, I have no idea how we got so lucky. My general approach to the unknown is to expect the worst and then to hopefully be pleasantly surprised when life doesn't outright suck. I had not even the faintest idea it could be this great, though. 

This kid, you guys. He smiles real smiles. Wide awake, he'll make eye contact and then give us these gummy grins that go all the way to his eyes. He is such a snuggler -- loves nothing more than to be swaddled and held, and he loves digging his little face into your neck. He has some unbelievably impressive pipes, but he reserves their use for truly terrible things, like diaper changes and faint pangs of hunger. (You've probably heard him, so impressive is his hunger fury.) Oh! And his cries! Seriously the cutest thing ever. He SNORTS when he cries. I feel so bad laughing at him, but the snorts of fury are HILARIOUS. So far, he is rocking being a newborn. He eats every 3ish hours and sleeps in between. He's starting to have more awake time during the day, and he's great at settling in at night too. We put him down fed, clean, and awake, and he just ... goes to sleep. (Please, God, may it stay this way.) He has had some gas issues, which was so sad, as he clearly had a belly ache. However, his pediatrician ok'd Mylicon drops yesterday and they are working like a charm. My happy and contented baby is back -- whew!

Thus far, the only disaster has been breastfeeding. My supply is abysmal (PCOS: The Gift That Keeps On Giving), and coupled with his size (9 lbs., 3 oz.!), well, I couldn't sustain his basic hydration, let alone his appetite. The worst part is that attempting to feed frustrates him to the point of raaage. He gets so stressed out, with this terrible screaming cry. It's really awful; I want to cry just thinking about it. I hate upsetting him like that, so I offer the boob regularly but don't force the issue, and I'm pumping as much as I can. Rationally I know he'll be just fine, but it's surprising to me how insidious the "Breast is Best" message is. I had always disregarded such messages, knowing breastfeeding is great when it works, but that it doesn't always work, and the bottom line is that everyone does the best they can with the resources they have. However, now that I'm in this particular position of it not working? The guilt is intense and oppressive, and it is all coming from me. Charlie's doctor, my mom, even the LCs I've met with have been nothing but supportive, and yet I still feel like I'm failing him. Blech. 

I'm choosing to console myself with lots of this and it's kind of awesome:

He's a damn miracle, and I'm weepy with gratitude on a regular basis.


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