Fatherhood is still setting in. I seem to have a permanent tingle of excitement in my belly, not a huge tingle, just the amount I would have if I was going on a holiday abroad in say, three weeks' time. The child is very cute, I am not sure if I am saying that because I am her dad, and therefore biased, but she did seem considerably better looking than the other babies in the hospital. She has a full head of dark hair, delicate wee features and a little pointy chin, and since she was delivered by c-section she did not come out that black-and-blue way newborns usually do; rather she was pink and pristine. By comparison the other kids were bald and lumpen.
Things are still surprisingly calm in the flat, and I am inclined to think that people who tell you how difficult it is to look after a newborn are painting it blacker than it really is. And you know how people love to tell you horror stories. Best thing is not to listen to other people under any circumstances. The child wakes up two or three times a night, gurning and thrashing her little arms about, and we get up, I check her nappy while Lynne gets herself organised to feed her. Then I go to bed and leave Lynne watching Sign Zone or some other crap late-night telly, baby at her breast. This stage is easier on me than it is on Lynne right enough, I really only get up out of solidarity. In a couple of weeks Lynne will be able to start expressing milk and we can keep it in the fridge, so she can sleep while I feed the baby. Perhaps things are easy so far because breast-feeding has gone so well, and the baby is content. She certainly doesn’t cry much, or for very long when she does.
Still, Lynne is tired all the time. So am I, but not as much as her. She gets a sleep in the afternoons and early evenings when the kid is asleep. As this week has gone on the baby seems to take less milk more often, and if this trend continues it will mean less and less sleep for Lynne. I get the feeling that maybe if the baby was awake more during the day, she might sleep more at night, but at a week old there is not much you can do to keep her awake without making her cry. She is still too little to really know what is going on around her.
At a week old, she cannot focus her eyes and cannot support her head by herself. When I hold her she only seems vaguely aware that I am there. To her my face must be some kind of dim shape looming over her. She is fascinated by the light coming in the window, or by the lamp at night. Light and shadow, that’s it, everything else is a blur. She is disappointed that I don’t have breasts and opens and shuts her mouth against my jumper in vain. She doesn’t mind music and loud voices, but a sudden noise will make her eyes open wide and her arms flail wildly for a moment. I have established two methods of interacting however; she will grab my finger and squeeze it, which is good fun, the other is that when I am rocking her she will lift and lower her chin in anticipation of my movements, in the same way that you move your legs when you are on a swing. Oh, and she likes it when I sing Paul Simon to her. 'The Boy in the Bubble' is her favourite.
Things are still surprisingly calm in the flat, and I am inclined to think that people who tell you how difficult it is to look after a newborn are painting it blacker than it really is. And you know how people love to tell you horror stories. Best thing is not to listen to other people under any circumstances. The child wakes up two or three times a night, gurning and thrashing her little arms about, and we get up, I check her nappy while Lynne gets herself organised to feed her. Then I go to bed and leave Lynne watching Sign Zone or some other crap late-night telly, baby at her breast. This stage is easier on me than it is on Lynne right enough, I really only get up out of solidarity. In a couple of weeks Lynne will be able to start expressing milk and we can keep it in the fridge, so she can sleep while I feed the baby. Perhaps things are easy so far because breast-feeding has gone so well, and the baby is content. She certainly doesn’t cry much, or for very long when she does.
Still, Lynne is tired all the time. So am I, but not as much as her. She gets a sleep in the afternoons and early evenings when the kid is asleep. As this week has gone on the baby seems to take less milk more often, and if this trend continues it will mean less and less sleep for Lynne. I get the feeling that maybe if the baby was awake more during the day, she might sleep more at night, but at a week old there is not much you can do to keep her awake without making her cry. She is still too little to really know what is going on around her.
At a week old, she cannot focus her eyes and cannot support her head by herself. When I hold her she only seems vaguely aware that I am there. To her my face must be some kind of dim shape looming over her. She is fascinated by the light coming in the window, or by the lamp at night. Light and shadow, that’s it, everything else is a blur. She is disappointed that I don’t have breasts and opens and shuts her mouth against my jumper in vain. She doesn’t mind music and loud voices, but a sudden noise will make her eyes open wide and her arms flail wildly for a moment. I have established two methods of interacting however; she will grab my finger and squeeze it, which is good fun, the other is that when I am rocking her she will lift and lower her chin in anticipation of my movements, in the same way that you move your legs when you are on a swing. Oh, and she likes it when I sing Paul Simon to her. 'The Boy in the Bubble' is her favourite.
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