Motherhood: Week 2

So far, it appears to me that motherhood may be best described as a series of disruptions punctuated by fits of bubbling adoration. You are no longer free to move about the day as you used to. (Especially in Ellen's case because she has her gut-slurping machine to lug around with her, Mr. Thirsty.) Your bathroom breaks are timed and your fuse is short.

Papa Lee went back to work this week so Mom and I are on a rotational schedule to support, soothe, and coo. Mom's morning shift with Ellen and Olivia is productive and utilitarian. They prepare for the day; tidy Liv's room, run loads of laundry, and wash bottles. My afternoon shift is much more leisurely and oftentimes serves as more of an emotional dump as most of the daily tasks have been completed and one is left with empty hours of waiting until bedtime. This part is not good for Ellen's mental state. *Note: do not confuse "bedtime" with the time that one may be allowed to sleep. 

Ellen is a prodigious milk-producer and Mom referred to her as "a happy holstein." When Ellen sits quietly in the corner to perform one of the more invasive Mom-tasks, one will quickly be delighted by the melodic rumbles of Mr. Thirsty as he gurgles and slurps, timed perfectly against the motorized purr of the breast pump, which wheezes slightly during it's release. It is a gentle percussion symphony attached to my sister by plastic tubes. 

Ellen stares off during concert times. 

When glancing towards the bassinet from across the room, one will likely see Olivia practicing her interpretive dance; one small hand, floating up over the crest of her bed, twisting like a ballerina's pirouette, and arching back down to first position. Occasionally both tiny arms rise to present the grand crescendo and then slowly lower behind their bunker. At the moment Olivia is working out how to keep her eyes moving in the same direction. Failure to do so causes unkind laughter from her family.

"The Beast has awoken," you'll hear Ellen say, "the Beast demands concessions."

Today we narrated Olivia's afternoon in our best David Attenborough cadence. This morning was perhaps one of many summits of Ellen's patience, so times were tough by lunchtime. Throughout the years I have noted Ellen's ability to remain functional in the midst of a meltdown. While I have had few in my life, during times of unravelling, I must sit still and wallow. Everything else is on hold.
Perhaps it's due to volume that Ellen cannot afford this luxury, but she carries on with her tasks as though she's not also sobbing. I admit I found it endearing today as she held her child in one arm, prepared a warm bottle in the other, and cried fat wet tears. It reminded me of a similar meltdown two years ago when she prepared and ate a hot lunch while she wept. I sat in awe of her then and offered my condolences. Today I praised her ability to multitask and pointed out that perhaps she's more prepared for this job than moms that must sit to cry. If you're interested in the kind of guy Ellen married, within 15 minutes of the meltdown's commencement, a delivery guy arrived with hot coffee and tea and pastries. Just a little something Lee had sent over to help cheer her up.

Stono pup now lives torn between curiosity and jealousy. She follows Ellen around all day and sits her hefty butt up as close to Ellen as possible. She stands in the way, sniffs aggressively, and drops soggy bones on Ellen's feet for play time. Due to her heft, it's not easy to put her on a different path. One must simply exist around Stono which is even more difficult with the threat of her getting tangled in Mr. Thirsty's interminable cord.

Olivia is painfully cute and sweet and even though Ellen says she cries at night, I have not heard more than a few whimpers of discomfort from Liv. The loudest sounds I've heard from her have come from her bottom end. Quite impressive actually.
Tomorrow she is two weeks old. That's half a month.
It's already too fast and too slow.