Birthday celebrations-- already

How is it possible? Moxie is officially two weeks old today. Where did those two weeks go?

Hmm. Well, I could say that it passed in a sleep deprivation haze. That would be true, but only partially. The whole truth is that I have been avoiding my life with a vicious cocktail of Leonardo Dicaprio (I know he's a total douche, but I just watched The Departed-- twice-- and he's an amazing actor. And his topless scenes didn't hurt the film's watchability, either.) and 4am doses of Canada's Next Top Model (for real, there is no better escapism than goofy canadian girls saying things like, "I don't think I did very well, I'm not good at walking"). Because

A.) Tallulah's enthusiasm for Moxie stresses my already shot nervous system and revolves around these three phrases:
"stop touching the baby, she's sleeping"
"don't climb on me, the baby's nursing." and, the one where I feel like the very best parent in the world,
"What did I say? Stop that! Now!"

B.) Moxie has no predictability yet. Which is fine because, hello, newborn. But I can't tell whether the next feeding is going to end with blissful sleeping or a crying jag. And it wouldn't matter so much except for Tallulah needing me to pay attention to her, feed her, take her to school, or any of those other little 'duties' four year olds require.

C.)The last week has established one predictable pattern for Moxie: she hates evenings. This is kind of common for babies and not much of a surprise, but my management technique involves lots of nursing, carrying, bouncing, swinging and pacifier use. But her breastfeeding latch hasn't been great and my nipples have been sore, cracked and bleeding. So marathon nursing was out and pacifiers are out until she gets a better latch. And she hasn't developed a love for any mechanical movement machines like swings or bouncy chairs yet. Which leaves me with carrying, walking, singing, and jumping in the bath with her. Oh, and passing her off to daddy.

D.) Tallulah climbs in bed with us in the middle of the night. She can't go to sleep until she pets Moxie, tells me how cute she is, pets me, snuggles up to both of us, pats my breasts, rubs my stomach, rubs Moxie's head, flings a leg over my hip, steals my covers, and takes over my pillow until I threaten her with eviction at which point she rolls over and does some combination of that to daddy. By this time, Moxie is awake and needs to nurse. Although I do fall asleep while nursing Moxie in bed and I know bed sharing is actually guaranteeing more sleep than most new moms have, I feel like I am always on duty.

Glamorous, right?

All right, my life may not be glamorous, but neither are the lives of goofy canadian girls trying to be 'top models'. And I get to eat chocolate.