Reality

So much to say, so little to say.

Today I just want to write. I've been fantasising about having an entire day to myself - can you imagine? AN ENTIRE DAY. Although I'm pretty sure I'd like to use that for some totally flippant things like reading for hours, sitting at a cafe in the sun, and getting these weary shoulders and feet massaged.

Back to reality which, at the moment, is recharging my memory with bolts of surprise.

I'd forgotten how time consuming newborns are. I'd forgotten how quickly they grow and just like that eight weeks have passed and my baby is so alert and responsive.

I'd forgotten how much I HATE breastfeeding. I thought I wanted to do it this time around (I did it last time despite my dislike of it) - and was so upset in hospital the first time I fed her and realised that I really don't. Every time I feed her I try to ignore the heebie-jeebies that come over me, the sick feeling as I see milk coming out of myself, and I watch her and list all the good things about this act. Both my girls have done this feeding thing so well and thrived so much on it, that I just can't justify changing things now. One day.

I'd forgotten how much of a blur these first weeks are. I thought I was so on top of things, yet in those first couple of weeks I've completely blanked out things that happened or were said to me. Some days, still, my brain is on delay and I take a while to connect what people are saying to what it all means. The pace is too much sometimes.

I'd forgotten how much I loved this newborn stage. I sit there chatting to her for ages, watching her and soaking up every little detail of her face. She has the most striking eyes and they light up like you wouldn't believe, mostly at the sound of her big sister, or when I chat back to her and she realises that she's actually communicating with me. Makes me nearly burst.

My 'big girl', who really did seem so grown up when I first saw her next to the baby, is back to being my little one again. It's like everything's getting back to normal. She's still my baby, too, still so young and needing us so much.

So many things seem like flashbacks to four years ago. She cries and I remember what that was like last time. Then Steve sits down and talks me through how good it really was, we look at photos together, and I think my memory is just weird. I look in my baby's eyes and watch her calm down as I talk to her, and I remember how important these early weeks and months really are for us, together. I compare too much - is this what Abbey was like? When did she do this? - not to judge each of them but to take myself back. Each time, I come to the conclusion that between us it was an amazing time. Just in my own head, my own issues, was it hard. Things are different now, I don't have to keep taking myself back there.

What now? Such a rambly post! So many things on my mind. For now they're dumped out of there, onto the page, and I'll take myself off to sleep and wake tomorrow morning with a fresh outlook, and less memory jolts. Or at least better ones, more accurate ones. Right?