Perspective

Yesterday, Baby Girl had her 4-month check-up, and Mama had yet another I-can't-believing-she's-growing-so-fast-she'll-be-leaving-me-and-heading-off-to-college-any-day-now-waaaah moment.

No biggie.
I have a lot of 'em.

Weight: 12 lb., 4 oz.
Length: Just shy of 25 inches

According to the doc and her percentiles, Baby Girl continues to run long and lean, so it's no surprise the little booger still wants to eat so often. That's just fine (and normal) for now.

Baby Girl did so good throughout her appointment, and was so brave with her shots, that I found myself feeling a little silly about my angst over a little thing that starts with an N and ends with an AP, and happens several times a day, often making me want to pull my hair out (but I can't, 'cause my hormone drop-off/ shedding phase combined with Baby Girl's itty-bitty, uber-grabby hands means I've got to hang onto every strand I've got left!).

So I decided that now, at the 4-month mark, it might be a good time for a fun game of Then/Now, to help me keep it all in good, ole perspective.

Once Upon a time...chica took darn near 20 minutes to latch at every feeding.

Now...she hurls her entire body toward my chest with her jaw unhinged ready. to. go.

Once upon a time...a second person was required for each feeding. Moi (or rather, just my breastesses), and someone else to pry Baby Girl's clenched fists away from her face so she could actually eat.

Now...those fighting fists have unfurled and freely roam and stretch, or thwack! when she's impatient and I just can't serve her meal fast enough.

Once upon a time...my precious child would scream bloody murder (seriously) for hours sometimes (no joke), as her whole body writhed in pain.

Now...we don't eat no dairy, and the world of digestion is a happy place (but Starbucks called; they want me back).

Once upon a time...I had to shower at warp speed whilst talking through the glass in the general direction of a crying child pitching a hissy on her play mat.

Now...that same hissy-pitcher happily self entertains for about 45 minutes while a grateful Mama showers, does her hair, makes the bed, throws in a load of laundry or two, and occasionally pretends to put on make-up. (But I swear that hissy-pitcher is now aware enough to think Mama looks funny in her birthday suit. I swear her little lips form the word "sag" just before she covers up the insult by eating her stuffed Pinkie owl).

Once upon a time...I couldn't go anywhere around the hour mark after a feeding or tickets would be warranted for the ensuing show (again, the dairy issues).

Now...I haul chica on my hip just about anywhere (many thanks to that neck strength), and she charms everyone she meets with her smiles and her drool.

Once upon a time...I couldn't show up for a photo session without stripping naked for an impromptu feeding whilst wearing a no-zipper shift dress.

Now...we get in and out of that studio like a drive through (pics from the latest session in tomorrow's post!).

Once upon a time...we could barely slink into the back row in church, and spent the entire service praying against a spectacle, and sometimes made one.

Now...we can make it through a front-row seating for a baptism with just some minor finagling.

And last but not least:

Once upon a time...only a couple short weeks ago, Baby Girl was making me old and haggard REPEATEDLY, by sleeping--and eating!-at night like a newborn.

Now...after a couple of stubborn weeks, she's finally accepted the nighttime shutdown of the milk factory and goes from 10:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. (Usually without too much protest).

So hey--if we're still sucking at naps, who cares? We'll get there. My new motto is: Just Give It Time. And that's what we're gonna do.

Oh, and one last thing:

Once upon a time, I wasn't rewarded for all of the above with generous smiles.

Now...Baby Girl lights up my life a hundred times a day.

She's pure joy, I tell ya.

Except when she hasn't gone poo in five days, then explodes in her car seat on the way to Wal-mart, forcing her Mama to pull into the nearest parking lot and tear through an entire case of wipes whilst soiling the hospital receiving blanket that has to serve as a makeshift changing pad.

Just your average Tuesday.

I'll spare you the picture of a steaming pile of baby clothes, wipes, blanket and poo, just this once, 'cause I love ya.