Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Rose Florence // one month old

Dear Rose,

Welcome to your family, little one. This first month with you has been a dream. Our days passed in much of the same way, but each one was full of meaning. You and I have been inseparable. We awake each morning and start our cycle of nursing and sleeping and diaper changing. I'm not as diligent about changing your diaper as I should be; I've become accustomed to only needing to change Bruce three or four times a day so I often forget about your diaper needs. I'm doing better in other ways, though. I'm more relaxed about certain things, like nap time.

You're lucky to be the second child because I now have an idea of what I'm doing as a parent and I no longer worry about things that I've come to realized don't matter. I'm happy to let you nap on me all day long -- no longer worried that if you don't nap in your bed you'll become spoiled and only able to sleep with me, and you know what? You're a great sleeper! Aside from a few rough nights during your first two weeks here, we haven't had any trouble getting you to sleep. At the end of your first month, you've been sleeping in six-hour stretches and only waking up twice each night to nurse. It's all you baby girl. I'm not doing anything different aside from giving you the safe space needed to figure things out on your own.

It is truly a blessing that you sleep so well, Rose. When I found out I was pregnant with you, your dad and I were in the midst of sleep training Bruce and up until that point at 10 months old he was only sleeping in two-hour stretches every night. As you can imagine, we were all exhausted! We weren't sure if we could handle another kid who didn't sleep, and so we prayed. Dad and I both prayed for a good sleeper, and here you are. We are so grateful for you, dear Rose.

Because you were delivered via c-section, your daddy was the first one to hold you and he told me that you stared at him the entire time. From the moment you were born, you have been thoughtful and observant. You love to see the faces of people, and you always smile when someone says hello to you. Sometimes when I say hi to you it sounds like you're trying to say hi back.

You're still as calm and content to lay on my chest most of the day. When I bathe you, you don't have much reaction to the water. You lie still but I am still able to tell that you're enjoying yourself as I pour the water over your belly. Despite being so calm, every once in a while you will ball your fists up so tight that your hands begin to turn purple. When that happens, I gently massage your fingers and loosen their grip. You are quick to relax.

Like most babies, your needs are simple. You rarely cry (except after I've removed you from your bath. You don't like that) and when you do you're easily soothed by food or firm bouncing.

When the nurse held you up to me after your birth, I kissed your cheek over and over and over again. Your cheek was so sweet, your face so sweet, one I finally get you in my arms I never wanted to let you go -- I held to you almost the entire time we were in the hospital and that habit has continued at home. 

I love you, Rosy. We all love you. I promise to love you forever and ever and ever, into eternity.  

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