I take comfort in completing small tasks each day. Today was a few loads of laundry. Yesterday, watering the plants. The day before, unpacking the hospital bag.

Our days are broken down into two chunks: Feeding (which, for Alice, is anywhere from 10 to 40 minutes) and the time between feedings.

We had quite the talk with Lucy about breastfeeding, and she calls it Mama Milk. She knows she had it, and that it made her big and strong (she will show you her muscles — her “double guns” — if you so desire, complete with flexing and grunting), and that now it’s Baby Alice’s turn.

The other night at bedtime she yelled to us: “I love boobies!”

Newborn Lucy and Alice look almost identical when they are sleeping, but Alice is her own little being when she is awake — especially around the eyes. She has her father’s exact hairline: Sleeping side-by-side, you can trace it on their heads exactly.

Eric goes back to work tomorrow. It will be good and comforting for him  to get back into his routine, but I know I’ll shed tears when he drives away in the little red car. His Mom is here this week, which will be fabulous help, but it is not the same as my Eric. It is hard to find a balance between letting him go without pressure and guilt and sadness, and setting him free to fulfill his role outside the house.

You can survive on bits and pieces of sleep, but oh man, I find it physically painful to wake up from naps — my body aches, my legs are lead, my head stuffy. Once I’m up, it’s alright, but getting there is pure torture.

Newborn fingers: Delicate, soft, innocent, perfect.

Possibly related posts:

1. Better.
2. Daycare drama = new digs
3. Life, lately, while in survival mode
4. Live, not from home
5. And Eric came down from the heavens and created a kick ass birthday in 7 days