My little munchkin man is three weeks old. The time just blows by. It felt like just yesterday when I wrote this post about being miserably hot and sweaty and pregnant.
Now, I am indoors most of the time because it is really hard to get out of the house. Breastfeeding is still an aspiration, so I am pumping, storing, reheating, washing. Constantly. 10 times a day it seems. To leave the house is to spend an hour beforehand making sure Elliott is fed, changed, and another bottle is packed on ice. Part of me wishes that this kid would just latch already so it's just easier to leave the house.
But, oh, this little boy. He is growing on me. His little reflex smiles seem like real, honest to goodness smiles sometimes. Sometimes our quiet feeding moments in the middle of the night are so wonderful. A quiet look as he gulps and gulps and gulps on the bottle is likely just as good as nursing. It's still "us" time. In spite of my selfish reasons to want to breastfeed my little baby boy is still getting what he needs from the world's most perfect food. Those little cheeks are getting chubbier by the second.
Happy three weeks, my little one!