After three months, we have settled into little routines so that it seems like there was always a bassinet at the side of the bed and the only thing new is that she has managed for the past several nights to stay asleep in it for six-hour stretches. (And I know I totally just jinxed that.)
It seems longer ago that it was:
That evening David came home with three flavors of Jello-O because that’s all I felt like eating.
That night I discovered the sound of running water would calm her and subsequently spent the dreariest, sleepiest hours of morning in a dark bathroom, turning on the tap every time she woke up, which was like every 20 minutes. (A tough one, for sure, but it led directly to the realization that I could roll her stroller into the bathroom and that she would chill out there happily while I showered.)
That afternoon I felt so accomplished that Alice and I spent most of our day outside the bedroom. How funny, because just yesterday we managed a two-hour walk, some time reading outside a coffee shop, a trip to Music in the Park.
And earlier this week, we visited her daycare where they already have a cubby for her. Bittersweet is her name on a daycare cubby.
After the concert last night, David was playing with Alice on the floor, and we were cheering some first-rate head lifting, and he said, “She didn’t do this two weeks ago.”
It’s true. She’s new every day.
I am with her all the time, so I sometimes miss the increments until I go back and really think about them. And then I think it’s quite amazing.