Easter Bunny

I haven't been much of a writer these days, and I find that the words are not coming easily to me. For example, I started writing Francie's birth story two weeks ago, and still have not sat down to finish it. But truthfully, photographs can better express the purity, sweetness, and beauty of my baby girl and my love for her.

We spent part of the day waking outside and enjoying the sun. The othe part? Staring at our sleeping babe.

Thanks for the bunny hat, Laurie!

I had a few instances of "bad mama" guilt today.

I woke up this morning celebrating. My baby slept five hours in a row! Wait, my baby slept five hours in a row? Turns out, I'm not supposed to let my newborn go without feeding more than four hours at night, and two hours during the day. So essentially, I'm celebrating being an ignorant mother. On one hand, I want to parent from a more natural, child-directed approach. But, I'm human, and also want to do everything "right," whatever that means. So the fact that I didn't carefully read and practice the pediatrician's recommendations, makes me feel very guilty. Then again, it's so counterintuitive to wake a peacefully sleeping baby in the middle of the night (not to mention waking my perfectly sleeping self).

The sun was out again today, it was about 65 degrees, so we went for another walk to the park. I had Francie in the Beco carrier, dressed in a onesie, pants, a light sweater, and a hat. Turns out I was probably cooking her little growing brain. She felt so warm to the touch when we got home, and she was feeding sort of lethargically. Alex took her temperature, just to humor me, and fortunately she was right on target. But I can't stop thinking about how I wouldn't even know if I overheated her, or about all of the harmful things I could be doing unknowingly.

Every night about this time I get a bit of anxiety and tell Alex, as if pleading with him, "I just want her to be okay." He tries to reassure me, but I'm pretty sure the worry is just part of the job description. I know I'm not alone in these feelings of guilt and anxiety, as there have been articles, books, and musings galore on the subject, but I wish I didn't verge on panic every time she coughs, chokes or sputters when she's feeding. Or I didn't compulsively poke her when she's sleeping to make sure she's alive. Or order Alex to drive safely, due to "precious cargo," from the backseat of the Subaru. Then again, if any of this so-called vigilance is effective in protecting my baby girl just one iota, then it's not for nothing.