Two Weeks

Dear Peeper: 

I can't believe that you have been with us for two weeks already, and yet, I'm not sure I even remember what life was like before you. 

(Of course, given how little I've slept since you arrived, there are a lot of things that I don't remember these days.)

I don't think we ever could have been truly "ready" for you, but given that you came four weeks early, we weren't even close to looking like we were ready. 

And we're still not. 

Since we came home, eight days ago, we've been living in "siege" mode, just concentrating on surviving until the next feeding, the next nap (For us. You sleep all the time.) or the next doctor's appointment. 

At some point, I guess we'll get used to it, and will start to function a little more effectively, and might even start to care about things like laundry (beyond "Does Peeper have clothes that fit for tomorrow's appointment" and "Does Mama have something to wear that doesn't reek of sour breast milk?"), dishes, and thank you notes. 

Speaking of thank you notes - Wow. The outpouring of not just gifts (although, yeah, that too) but also well-wishes and concern and offers of help have been overwhelming. 

It's hard to say just what the most amazing thing about you is, but I'm pretty sure it's the effect you've had on your Mommy. 

From the very first night you were here, you've had her wrapped around your teeny, tiny little finger. 

If there's anything I love as much as I love you, it's watching the two of you together. 

Between my recovery from having you, and all the pumping I'm doing (more on that soon, when I write about the breastfeeding challenges that come with a near-term preemie), and the spectre of her going back to work in a couple of weeks, and just the fact that she can't put you down, she's actually doing way more of the hands-on work involved in taking care of you than I am - including poopy diapers, which I'm sure has surprised her more than anything else. 

Since we got home from the hospital, she's been compiling a "Peeper Mix" on her computer and iPod, of songs just for you. 

It could also be called "Songs to Make Mama Cry" because they do. 

And the way she looks at you. I could watch that all day long. 

Sometimes, I just don't whether I want her to hand you to me, so I can hold you, or whether I just want to watch the two of you together. A three-way-family-snug usually solves the dilemma. 

Two weeks. 

We've been through a lot together in such a short time, this new little family of ours. 

We've gotten way more used to saying "Hi, this is Whozat Shrike-Whozat. I'm calling about my daughter PeepersBigName," than we ought to be at this point. 

And yet, everytime I say it, my voice catches, and my heart skips a beat, when I get to the words, "my daughter. "

Not my I'd-like-to-have-a-little-girl-someday; not my I'm-pregnant-and-having-a-girl; but my daughter. 

My actual, real live, flesh and blood, in my arms, daughter. 

Our daughter. 

Two weeks down, the rest of our lives to go. 

I can't wait.

Love, Mama