Bridget turned three weeks old last night.
She was born at home at 8 pounds; one week later at her first pediatrician's visit, she weighed 7 pounds, 11 ounces--not too shabby for a breastfed baby...
...But her bilirubin levels were a little high, so we had to do two tests in twenty-four hours (everything turned out fine);
meanwhile, nursing was KILLING me, and I didn't think she was gaining as much weight as she should have been.
With the help of an amazing lactation consultant and an awesome dentist
(more on that later), we got back in the groove quickly.
At the pediatrician's office yesterday she was up to 8 pounds, 12 ounces,
and to say I was relieved would be the understatement of at least the month.
Bridget will take a pacifier, but she doesn't love them. Ditto bottles.
She cries when she has gas, when her diaper or clothes are being changed,
and when she's HUNGRY, WOMAN! ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?!?
Otherwise, like her brothers before her (particularly Finn),
she sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.
There have been a few five-hour stretches at night,
and more often than not there's at least a four-hour one.
Again, not too shabby.
Unlike our other babies, Bridget takes a while to settle after her midnight-ish feed.
Unlike me with our other babies, I really understand that this too shall pass.
These days are incredibly fleeting--the nights are, too.
Oh, right. She also cries after politely enduring ten minutes of tummy time.