DangerMouse had her four month checkup last week. 95th percentile for height, 90th percentile for weight, 25th percentile for head size. Fun fact: our pediatrician (who will henceforth be dubbed Dr. FTW) told us that DangerMouse looks a lot like Andrew. In her culture, that means Genevieve will be very successful.
I'll take that. Especially since she didn't tack on "... as a stripper" to the end of that sentence.
(Truth be told, while I would rather Genevieve *not* be a stripper, if she decides to go that route, I would hope she was a very successful one.)
[FUTURE GENEVIEVE: DO NOT BE A STRIPPER.]
How did this become about strippers? Quick, palate cleanser!
|Sweater and hat both by DangerMouse's knitting aunties|
I'm finding it helpful, partly because it addresses a lot of the less-than-sparkly feelings that sometimes accompany new motherhood, and partly because I'm more mindful of some of the things I can actively work on. Like being frustrated that I'm not getting enough done.
Enough of what? Genevieve is fed, clean, and mostly cheerful. We talk, we sing, we play, we nap. We don't run 400 errands and do 8000 things every day; or every week even. But, I am trying to stay positive and treasure the time I have with her while she is small.
Andrew says he feels it too, the feeling that he's unproductive. But it's things like the picture with their matching hats that reminds him that everything else isn't as important. He's right.
For now, I'll take the snuggles where I can get them, because like the poem says, "I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."