Nugget turned three months old yesterday! I haven’t killed her, dropped her, rolled over on her, banged her head, or crushed her little hands or feet. The dog hasn’t done any of that either. So far, she’s still intact. And she has a very endearing thing she does where she grasps things, but will leave her middle finger up. It’s great. I have this endearing thing that I do too. I lose all of my hair and it can be found in the bathroom, all over the house, on the baby, in the car, everywhere. It’s super cute. Postpartum Shed, they call it. Should be called Postpartum Pain In My Ass. I’ve actually contemplated putting the vacuum hose up to my ponytail and turning it on. It’d be so much more efficient that way if I didn’t know it’d be an exercise in futility.
Anyway, three months is supposed to be this magical time when babies stop being newborns and turn into infants. They can smile and coo at you, recognize their caregivers and supposedly sleep through the night. I read this ridiculous statistic that said 90% of three-month old infants sleep through the night. I’m ecstatic, really, that my little bundle. of. joy. is not part of the majority. Ecstatic. Happy. Content. Yeah. I even lamented about this issue on Facebook last night, put Nugget down in her crib when she was completely asleep and went to bed. I startled myself around 11pm because I hadn’t heard her cry for me yet and then just laid there a while. She finally cried out at 1am. Then again at 5:23am. I honestly thought she might have succumbed to some terrible death, but was afraid to look in on her for fear of waking her up. Does that make sense? Even The Man said it. I’m terrified to think this might have been a turning point because maybe it was a one time deal like it was last week. Although, twice in 10 days…we’re making headway.
So far in her short little time here on Earth (and even right before), Nugget has consistently proven that she’s on time for things. Never early, never late. I mean, I had the most textbook pregnancy ever. Even my doctor marveled how all of my measurements, month after month, week after week, were exactly what they “should” be. I was neither too big (thank god), too little, too heavy (THANK GOD) or too light. I mean I walked around 3-4 cm dilated for weeks before my due date. My OB said I needed to be ready for labor any day. So I was. I walked around waiting for something, anything to happen; worried that I’d be standing in a pile of liquid in a store, at someone’s house, at work, somewhere other than home. I analyzed everything. Everything. You know when I went into labor? On my due date. Do you happen to know how rare that is? I think around 20%, maybe 10%. Actually, I have no idea, but I know it’s unusual. So, should I really be surprised that she began to sleep much longer than usual on her third…uh, monthday (well, it’s not her birthday)? Guess not. All that craziness in my head for nothing. She continues to prove me idiotic, worrying for nothing. I dreadfully foresee many years of this.