Sweet Anabel is three months old. She weighs 11 pounds and 1 ounce. She is twenty-three inches long. She is goofy and slap happy, most of the time. Far more comfortable than any other month thanks to overdue reflux meds and intestines that have matured a bit. She loves almost everything now. Except for having her nose suctioned (that's the worst form of torture in her eyes). She falls asleep on her own, but no longer through the night She is perfecting her giggle, responding to her name, practicing rolling back to front, and napping like the queen she is. She is still a fan of bath time, her dad, music, dancing, eating, and most recently - sticking her entire fists in her mouth. Her hands are the best things around. She's got incredible motor skills these days & anything she can grasp goes straight to her mouth. She was an elf for her very first Halloween, and she rocked it. So far, month three is kind of the best month ever, and I am almost certain that I couldn't love her more.
13 November 2013
31 October 2013
I think we are here. On the other side. Where there is more light than dark. A place where my baby is no longer in chronic pain. With probiotics (I'll be singing their praises for the rest of my life), an overdue silent reflux diagnosis, and another month under her digestive system's belt - Anabel does a lot more smiling and a lot less crying. I was told long before I even planned to have children, that I would be the voice for my kids. That has always stuck with me.
For the past two months, so many people have told me what was wrong with my baby or what my child needs. That she just had "colic." That some babies "just scream all the time." That she was just a "high demand," "hot tempered," or a "high needs" baby. Or in other words, not a "good baby." In my heart, I knew that wasn't true. And seeing how easy going and undeniably happy she is with the help she needed, what I knew to be true is confirmed. I have never seen a more calm, content, incredibly sweet baby than Ana now. She talks and sings to us. She tries so hard to laugh. Her body no longer stiffens, and she no longer writhes in discomfort. She sleeps soundly, sometimes wrapped up near my chest in the sling, or just draped across my stomach. Something that was unheard of before. She isn't frightened in other peoples' arms anymore. She still makes her needs known, but now she does so without panic. It isn't easy by any means - but my girl finally feels good, and this normal "hard" is something I have been longing for.
I mean, just look at her.