New Mummy: The best baby ever, of course…

I find it amusing how quickly we have fallen into that smug parent trap of half-believing our baby is the ‘best’ baby, the cleverest, cutest, whatever, in the whole wide world (see last week’s post).

Is it instinctive, a trick of the mind, a throwback to more ruthless times when a baby’s survival needed clever tricks up its sleeve? Like the theory that a newborn baby looks like daddy (oh she does, as everyone keeps telling me) so hunter-gatherer daddy didn't reject her, is there some cause, deep rooted in our history, that leads us to believe our baby is top dog?

[New Mummy: And so it all begins]
[Tips for busy mornings with a toddler]

Either way, it’s extraordinary how easily Adam and I have become obsessed, and how readily we tell everyone who will listen. We were always so adamant we wouldn’t ever become baby bores. Oh how quickly that’s gone out the window.

Sad but true, our baby’s eating, sleeping and pooing patterns are the most important events in our daily life at the moment (this newborn bubble is a weird place to be). We do, however, keep forgetting that they’re not the most important thing in yours. You have a grip on reality, on current affairs, on Friday night down the pub. We have poo. Actually, I draw the line on ever sharing about her poo. No one wants to hear about poo, even I know that.

It’s not just the over-sharing that I’ve changed my mind about either. How’s this for the biggest u-turn of the week: Approximately 15 minutes after Honor was born, my internal monologue went something like this: “There’s absolutely no way I could go through that (birth) again. That big family we always planned? Not so keen any more. One’s enough I think. I love her so much already, let’s not have another one.”

Now: “That was the most incredible experience, I can’t wait to do it again. Look at this perfect, beautiful baby. I want more!

This euphoria has been helping me through the sleepless nights and the I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing days. But I’ve been worrying about the dreaded ‘day four’. Friends, midwives, books – they all warn of this disastrous day when new mums crash and burn and cry – and cry and cry and cry. It’s to do with the milk supply coming in and it’s basically a hormone car crash. Well, it’s now day 14 and I’m still happy as can be. Exhausted - yes, cranky – undoubtedly. But to my husband’s relief, no uncontrollable wailing – yet.
Actually, there has been some uncontrollable wailing, but from Honor, rather than me, which is of course, entirely acceptable.

In the first few days, I was lulled into thinking we had the most remarkably well behaved baby ever. She hardly cried, she just slept, fed, slept. ‘Ha, this is easy,’ I was thinking, ‘What’s all the fuss about?”
It didn’t last. What I’d failed to realise was that Honor was, understandably, rather tired following the enormous event of being born. She had some sleep to catch up on.

She’s had that sleep now, and it would appear we have a rather feisty girl on our hands. She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to tell us. I do love these early glimpses into her strong little character. I just wish she didn’t have to do it at the top of her voice. Continuously. Especially when I’m trying to sleep.