"All this food was getting shoved down my throat," she complained. "My sister, Anne, kept rubbing my back. I kept thinking, 'Stop it! This is very uncomfortable. I don't like this at all!' But I couldn't talk. I had food in my mouth.
"Do you think that's how Hope must feel?"
I'm no dream analyst, but that may mean something.
Hope is four weeks old today. It's been 12 days since she came home. Mo seems to be digging the new mom thing. She's very protective, eager to ease Hope's worries and delights watching her little cheeks become chubbier daily. She's positively thriled, but exhausted.
We have two major observations after one month, neither of which is surprising: It's amazing how much we love this little girl, but weren't quite prepared for the level of work. Feeding is major production. Every three hours, we try to cajole her into eating just a bit more. That lasts 30 minutes and is followed by another 30-60 minutes of holding so she doesn't spit anything up. Often, that means coaxing her to sleep, then realizing we need to wake her up in a half hour to repeat the process.
Mo does most of the heavy lifting, and it's all-consuming. A scarier sign that Mo may need some diversions -- crossword puzzles? stuffing ships into bottles? -- came yesterday.
Mo looked at me and uttered truly frightening words: "I may actually be missing work a little."