Tuesday, June 12, 2007
She's three weeks old today. Here's my favourite photo of her so far. She cluster-feeds throughout the day, but is capable of sleeping for up to five-hour stretches, sometimes even at night, and even through her sister's noisy midnight incursions into our bedroom with various imaginary monsters in pursuit. The Holy Grail of parenting, They tell me, is getting more than one kid to sleep in sync, and my word They are right.
Meanwhile it's three weeks out for me, too. My stomach is resolving into a strange, rectangular shape, although when clothed I look almost back to normal, and in any case my receding bump is easily eclipsed by the Hindenburg-like proportions of the inflated mammaries, which precede me into any room by several seconds. My scar pulls and puckers much more than I remember last time, and curls up at one end, like a sneer. The surgeon, who came by the day after Maggie was born, seemed slightly narked that he hadn't been able to make a more perfect cosmetic job of it. So that's my career as a glamour model buggered then. Wonder if I can sue.
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