So having a baby is a little time-consuming, turns out. I know! Who'd have guessed! Despite the fact that Hugo has proven, so far, to have inherited his father's mellow, easygoing temperament—as opposed to his mother's, ahem, less mellow, less easygoing one—the basic job of keeping a tiny human being fed, happy, and not rolling around in his own poop all day has been surprisingly all-encompassing.
Hugo turned six weeks old on Friday—this time six weeks and three days ago I was just starting to have the sort of contractions that made me seriously contemplate throwing myself out of the fifth floor window of the delivery room, because that pain seemed preferable—and he is, I have to admit, shockingly cute. I mean, yeah, I'm biased or whatever, but come on, I just have to look at his little face and I'd do whatever he told me to do. You want chocolate ice cream for dinner, Hugo? You want a pony? How about an all-expenses paid trip to Bora Bora? I'm booking it right now. Window seat or aisle? Oh, Business Class, you say? Of course, my little angel, of course. And would you also like my complimentary champagne when the flight attendant isn't looking?
Even though he is turning out to be a fairly chillaxed little baby, there is one area in which Hugo does not suffer fools and that is eating. Perhaps to make up for the fact that he looks absolutely nothing like me, he seems to have inherited one of my keenest characteristics: he really, really, really likes to eat. He likes to eat so much, in fact, that we have taken to calling him Hungry Hungry Hugo, one of many nicknames we've given him, most of them having to do with this hungryness and—thank goodness—his cuteness. (Other things we like to say to him right before he feeds: "Your usual today, sir?", "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to put a shirt on to eat here," and "Can I tell you about our specials? We have Left and Right.")
But man, breastfeeding is kind of boring. I mean, sure, it's also sort of amazing and I'm frequently fairly awed that I am nourishing another person using only my body, you know, NBD, but still. What do you do during breastfeeding sessions? I've tried to read, but it's a little hard to turn the pages, so then I tried to read on my iPad, but I'm just not one for e-books, I don't think, so now I mostly just end up browsing a lot of Pinterest and watching a lot of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, which means I could probably recite, like, seven salted caramel s'mores-based recipes right now and also the names of the entire Kardashian-Jenner clan. (Which isn't really that much of a coup, honestly, despite the fact that there are about twenty-five of them. I mean, when in doubt, just guess something beginning with K.)
Is there some fun passes-the-time-while-breastfeeding activity I'm missing out on, perchance? Is there a late-night group of moms somewhere on the Internet who all connect during the wee hours of the morning when we're sitting alone in the dark in our rockers with a small hungry person attached to our boob? Are they accepting new applicants?
Apart from spending a lot of time with Hugo glued to my body—not that I'm complaning, I know I'll miss this in a year's time—we haven't really been doing a whole lot except......well, just getting by, I guess. Sean was off work for a glorious five weeks, which meant I had a ton of help while he was home, but he's gone back to work now so it's just me and Hugo all day, and we seem to spend most of it just eating and napping. I guess this isn't exactly news to anyone, but having a newborn blows any semblance of a schedule you may have had just clean out of the water. I've had to make peace with getting one-eighth of my to-do list done on any given day, and most of the time my to-do list is basically just "put on actual trousers, not just leggings."
Also there has been some gas. I won't elaborate. You're welcome.
Oh, it's all just such a blur and a fog, these first few weeks, althought of course it's a lovely one. Well, mostly a lovely one; I wouldn't complain about a little more sleep. Hugo mostly wakes up twice in the night, for about an hour each, which isn't horrible but certainly isn't a walk in the park either, because the worst part about this broken sleep, I'm finding, is that it's cumulative, night after night after night, and though I've mostly got used to it now—and made peace with the fact that I can get eight hours a night, it's just going to be broken into chunks with some awake time inbetween—it does still feel fairly torturous at times. Once I get my act together and figure out my super intimidating, rather medieval-looking breast pump, Sean can start doing a feeding or two, which will help. Right now, however, if you are a person who goes to bed at night and wakes up in the morning, and doesn't spend two hours watching Kourtney and Khloe Kardashian flit about LA in between, I want you to stand up and applaud yourself. Now take a bow and do a little spin and wave to me out here in double-espresso land. You might as well have won the lottery, my friend.