Pronoun-wise, I tend to use 'he' as a placeholder, but 'they' is also accepted by all parents, and I'm sure we'll be informed of the correct pronoun at some point later on.
I figure I'm going to maintain a baby-news filter and put anything I want to talk about that's delicate or complicated or boring-to-those-who-aren't-me about the baby in that; if you were on the pregnancy-update filter and do not wish to be on the ongoing baby filter, please let me know. Alternately, if you weren't on the pregnancy filter and want to be on the baby filter, also please let me know.
I'll probably talk about general baby stuff unlocked but under a cut.
Generally: things are going well, I think? I mean, he's healthy, we're healthy, I have not yet set anything on fire by accident because tired, so. I have managed to ding myself chopping vegetables a couple of times, though.
Honestly, and I am almost loathe to type this because I am afraid he will somehow hear it and change his mind, I think the cub may be that nearly mythical creature, an easy baby.
At just past two weeks old, we can reliably get him to sleep for five-hour stretches-- I put him down at ten p.m., it's nearly three now, I expect him to be up within half an hour but to get him down again pretty easily-- and I'd worry about this, except that he's gaining weight as expected, eats hungrily, and is as alert and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he's awake as a two-week-old whose eyes don't focus yet can be.
As a result, though both Ruth and I are exhausted, I'm not sure I'd call it sleep deprivation, exactly; I'm getting about as much sleep as I usually get, about when I usually get it, and Ruth is getting way more than they were right before he was born. It's just that we'd need about a third more sleep than usual each to be really energetic in the face of the extremely large quantity of new-to-us work we have to do at a high level without breaks, all of that work involving a baby who has passed ten pounds, and who would therefore qualify as weight training if weights had the habit of squirming and leaping in the arms of the exercisers in a difficult-to-hold-onto fashion. My back, shoulders, and neck would like to register a complaint. A whole set of complaints.
But we're managing to do things like go to the Halloween party we usually go to, where Fox slept contentedly in a back room, and we had cousins L. and A. come by on their way through town, and tomorrow we're having lunch with papersky, because I actually feel reasonably sanguine about taking the baby out for a bit. Ruth's basically on top of the laundry and I'm basically on top of the dishes, and thanks to Blue Apron I'm cooking relatively healthy food at home a lot of the time. The house is a disaster area, which I feel bad about, but that's not a new-since-baby problem, that's an ongoing thing-in-progress.
I don't yet have remotely the energy to go back to either of my jobs, or to work on my novel, but I can see a point at which all of that will be possible from here. Ruth is still recovering from the birth, and both of us have stress ups and downs. I mean, I feel pretty good about things at the moment but ask me again in a few hours or tomorrow and I'll probably feel pretty overwhelmed.
The cats have managed to scrape themselves off the ceiling. Rafael's initial reaction was WHAT IS THIS WILL IT EXPLODE I WILL AVOID IT UNTIL SOMEONE TELLS ME WHAT IS GOING OOOOONNNNN, plus not listening to anyone trying to tell him what is going on, and he still won't come within a foot of Fox, but there's no reason he should, honestly. Lucien's initial reaction was 'you intentionally did this as an insult to my personal dignity and I will haughtily overlook your very existence until you appease me', so he won't come within a foot of Fox either, but he is starting to relent to the point where I can pet him every so often without getting the Glare Of Ice To The Cat Betrayer. Which is good, because I'm trying to give the cats as much attention and affection as they are used to getting, and it's hard to do when they are actively avoiding everybody.
And I am just never going to be a baby person; I am looking forward intensely to the ages where more of his personality will develop. All of the sayings that it's different when it's your own baby are right only in the respect that I do not, most of the time, actively wish to run away from our baby, which is different than I am with other peoples' babies, all right. I would probably shank somebody on his behalf, of course, but I do not see most of the cute.
Overall, though, I could see things going way, way worse than they are now, and I can't envision many ways things could be going better. I'll take it.
Just nobody tell him he's an easy baby. I fear he will subscribe to the same school of contrariness as the cats do and then we will never be able to cope with anything again. If he just doesn't know, he can go right on doing it.
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