Rowan is starting to develop those fat pockets on her face … like what a full-term newborn has. Her face isn’t as emaciated as it was a few weeks ago. In fact, her entire body isn’t as thin; she’s chunking out, my sweet girl.
Her hair continues to grow, and it undeniably has a strawberry tint. We’ll see … (Thank you Daddy and Mary for giving Rowan Mommy’s hair color.)
I don’t really think about Mary anymore. Sometimes I see little things in Rowan, but mostly she resembles her daddy. Mary is beautiful, though, so it’s allll good. It doesn’t really matter, ha! I’m Rowan’s mommy without a doubt. She knows exactly who her mommy is. I thought it would be a little difficult, that I’d have to deal with my thoughts, emotions, insecurities. I worried a little about bonding with Rowan, but the Lord has been gracious.
If I had to choose, I’d choose Rowan and every block that built her. I’d choose that egg … that precious gift Mary will never understand means everything to me.
I feel like I could sleep all day. Like, it’s not normal. I’m a pretty productive, alert person. I’ve been productive: chores in the morning, NICU for the rest of the day. But I’m tired. Why am I so tired? I’m not exercising yet. I’m not going to work (I didn’t have to return so soon after all). I pump, tie up loose ends at home, and spend time with Rowie. Nothing I do is exhausting, and yet I am exhausted. I have to remind myself that it’s okay. That even if there’s no explanation in the forefront, perhaps it’s just the traumatic events of the last seven weeks. Just, ha! Maybe my body has established a new norm of recovering from sickness/surgery; mourning the loss of Emmanuelle; remaining on high alert for Rowan; producing a ton of milk. Maybe all of that is enough to make a new mom exhausted. My only concern is being able to hold Rowan for a good long while. She typically tolerates kangaroo care for at least three hours, from one care time to the next. But I can’t nap while holding her. I’m exhausted though, but I don’t want her to suffer or lose out on skin-to-skin time.
Speaking of which, let me date/time these breast milk bottles, go to the ladies’ room, and hold my baby … 2 p.m. Mommy and Rowie time.