A Slow Start

We think that Margot is a giant because she is no longer engulfed by her carseat, and has almost outgrown her first pair of pajamas. Tomorrow our midwife is coming for her final post-partum visit, and she will weight Margot with her ancient fish-scale -- one of her midwife tools that, like the wooden earhorn for checking fetal heartrates, is cool to look at, but not all that reliable as an actual tool of measurement. But I am super excited anyway, because I am certain that Margot has really packed on the pounds -- or ounces at least?

Our days with Margot are long. The last five and a half weeks have surely been the longest of my life. This is not (always) because things are hard, but (sometimes) because every little moment of the day is an event. Getting myself dressed, managing a onesie over her head, settling in a comfortable spot on the couch for nursing and, hopefully, a nap. All of these things are major. And so a visitor with an actual scale -- no matter how ridiculous and antiquated -- who can tell us, yes, your baby is growing, you are passable as parents? That's big.