It’s been a whole week.
A week [and a day] since we brought Oliver home from the hospital. I’m really shocked at how quickly the week past and I’m not quite sure what I did last week.
One of the things that sticks out for me from this past week is how easy it’s all been.
The differences between Oliver and Cara at this age are striking.
Cara was [and still is] a “high needs” baby. Cara had [and still has] an intensity and maturity about her that has only intensified as she’s aged. She required constant holding, almost constant nursing, would not take a bottle or pacifier and cried for the majority of the day. She was [and still is] my job and I dove into the whole deal like a crazy person [imagine that] and did what I had to do to not loose the tiny bit of sanity that I had hidden away.
Once she and I figured out what worked, we went with it and never looked back.
I honestly believe that because I was so receptive to her needy ass and made sure that I didn’t try to stuff her in a “this is how a baby is supposed to act” box that she’s become such a well adjusted kid.
Oliver is a whole nother ball of wax.
For one, Ollie sleeps. A lot. Out of 24 hours, Oliver is probably asleep 20 of those hours. Cara has NEVER slept that much.
Oliver will allow me to put him down when he’s asleep. Cara would be dead ass asleep and the second her back would hit her pack-n-play or crib she would be wide awake and screaming…for an hour.
Oliver takes FOREVER to piss off and when he’s really pissed it just takes me picking him up and holding him to my chest to get him to calm down. Cara would turn red, shake, scream and become wet with sweat when she really got going. A boob in her mouth was the only thing that would calm her and even that wouldn’t work at times.
Oliver sucks at breastfeeding. [pun really not intended] Ollie was a big ole boy when he was born – nine pounds 1 oz and 21.5 inches long. [Since I’m only 5’2″, I’m not quite sure how the kid fit in with all of my innards.]
Oliver has a lazy latch and would rather not be bothered to open his mouth all of the way. He looks at me with this “can’t you do that for me” kind of look. As a result, I ended up with huge scabs on both nipples and a good deal of boob pain. There’s nothing like hot pokers in your nipples and the overwhelming urge to scream when you’re trying to nourish your newborn.
Because of this crappy latch and Oliver’s complacency, he lost about a pound; Cara never lost one ounce.
Even though I know in my head that up to a 10% drop in weight is normal, I was freaked the hell out by the fact that my large newborn was wasting away. [Melodrama anyone?]
After much work on both of our parts and lots of Lansinoh, Oliver is FINALLY having lots of wet and dirty diapers and I have a feeling that he’ll be back at his birth weight by the 30th when he has a weigh-in.
Cara, by contrast, was a breastfeeding champ from the beginning.
I was in recovery for less than five minutes when they brought her to me and layed her on my chest. Bear in mind that I was flat on my back to avoid a spinal headache. Cara buried her face in my boob and attempted to feed herself and ended up turning bright blue due to my boob suffocating her. How’s that for a story? 🙂
But, like my pediatrician told me after she weighed Ollie, white male infants are content to starve. They are notoriously poor breastfeeders and are usually only interested in boob if it’s foisted into their mouths with little effort exerted on their part.
Stupid white males.
Over this past week, Tucker and I have compared these two kids almost constantly. I know it’s normal and inevitable and one is not “better” than the other.
But, after living on Planet Cara for so long, Planet Oliver is definitely an odd an place to be.
