11 months later.

I don’t turn on my computer anymore.

Honestly, most of the time, I don’t even know where it is.  Balanced on a high surface, maybe.  Or buried under a pile of picture books.  Or serving as a coaster for the glass of water that I poured and then forgot.  Please don’t take this as a complaint: it isn’t.   It’s just to say that I spend most of my time these days catering to the demands of a very short and demanding roommate  (“Park! “ “Swing!” “Milk!”  “Play!”  “Monkey!”  “Food!”  “Sushi!”)  Please don’t take this as a complaint either: her demands are accompanied by hugs, a sticky cheek squished into mine, giddiness when I walk through the door.  No, I’m not here to complain.  Just to tell you why I haven’t written a post in 11 months.

I’ve been too busy.  Too tired.  Too happy.

I’m not sorry.

I am sorry, though, that you know so much about Bingo’s conception, gestation, birth, infancy even, but so little about Bingo herself.  Here’s what I want you to know:

Bingo is doing so well.  She’s 19 months now, and undeniably a toddler. I called her a baby until the word felt ridiculous counterpoised against her undeniably larger self. She spoke (and signed) early, walked late.  Her first word was “up”, said with arms reaching into the air. So many words have followed.  Her first ‘sentence’ was “No, mommy, no!”   Many of her joys and sorrows are the same as they were at eight months: she loves animals, books, and the park.  She still loves food, though sushi, cheese, bread, pizza and pasta have replaced carrots and bananas as her favourites.  Her favourite people are her mommies, followed closely by a host of baby friends, suitably entertaining adults, and a stuffed monkey.  Her list of baby sorrows is still short: having her face wiped, the word “no” (uttered by anybody other than her), nutrients, sleep.

Though you saw photos of Bingo as a fetus on an ultrasound and as wrinkly newborn, I’m not going to share photos of her here and now.   She is too much herself now, and the internet is too wide.  So imagine light brown hair, caught in a haphazard ponytail or falling across large dark eyes.  Imagine a small, wrinkled nose, and a dimple on a round cheek.  Imagine feet tripping over themselves, outstretched arms, a small body propelling itself forward, powered by curiosity and delight.  We are never still these days, and I don’t turn on my computer anymore.

Thanks.

Thank you all for your welcomes to Bingo!  I did, in fact, write updates during much/most of labor and will post them in the form of a birth story once I have a chance to edit.

Bingo is, in my totally biased opinion, the cutest baby on the block.  This doesn’t negate the fact that I definitely spent a good amount of time this morning sititng in bed sobbing on to the baby after she went twelve hours last night constantly nursing, with the longest stretch of sleep for either of us being five minutes.

Luckily we have amazing friends and midwives, who bring food, laughter, hugs, advice and support.  After a visit from the midwife this afternoon that included a crash course in improved breastfeeding, Bingo is now sound asleep and– of course– totally worth it all.

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