Zoë's life: day two

Andrew took the kids to church by himself on Sunday. Miriam ended up going home with her friend Lily and Rachel went home with her friend Carolina (and having her first sleepover, which she loved). In the afternoon Andrew brought Benjamin in to visit (and to watch Zoë so that I could finally take a shower). I spent the day napping and admiring this sweet baby:

By the time she was 24 hours old she began to look a lot more comfortable in her own skin. Her constant scowl was replaced with a...quasi-scowl. I'm sure she'll look happy to be here in time.

Her hands and feet were so wrinkly (they still are, I suppose). And look at those poor little bruises. She has a couple of those on either side of either heel. They look worse in real life (and/or to my biased don't-hurt-my-baby eyes).

Wrinkly as they are, though, I love those sweet little baby toes. That foot shape is rather familiar to me. I saw something about that size and shape quite often, moving around beneath my shirts. Zoë also loves to sleep with her legs fully extended, and then to quickly pull them into the fetal position only to fully extend them minutes later like a spring-loaded...something-or-other (words are in my head somewhere, I think, but they're stuck in a fog). It's one of those movements that I watch from this side of my belly and think, "So that's what she was doing in there!"

My right rib cage, specifically, is very familiar with those wee toes.

I tried to take some pictures for her birth announcement, but the lighting in my room was so difficult for me to work with (and/or my head is in a fog and/or standing up to get a good angle with the camera just wasn't happening). But this picture turned out alright and she looks so peaceful...

She spent a little bit of time being awake and...loathing the world. She's such a grumpy-looking baby, though I don't think she's grumpy natured. She just seems a little disappointed with everything. Her face screams, "So this is Earth? Meh."

Oh, look! It's my boys!

Benjamin was adored by the nurses. He helped Daddy push Zoë's little basinet down the hall to the "snack room," as he called it. That was his favourite part of all his visits, aside from seeing Zoë and Mommy, naturally. It was actually a pretty rockin' snack room—they had canned soups and frozen dinners in addition to juice and jello and pudding and crackers and ice cream and so forth. It's a good thing the snack room was stocked so well because the hospital meals were terrible.

Aside from my first breakfast—when I had pancakes and orange juice and a billion other things that have been taboo for so long (I felt like a sinner for eating so many carbs in one sitting)—everything was...ew. Tasteless, overcooked, mushy grossness.

One meal receipt claimed my meal would be lemon chicken with rice pilaf and steamed broccoli.

I took the lid off my plate and all that was on my plate was broccoli.

Now, I like broccoli but I also tend to get a little ravenous post-childbirth and/or when I'm nursing.

It was almost as depressing as the one time I opened my hospital meal only to find...a few slices of cheese. But that was in Egypt. You'd expect meals to be sub-par when you have to cart in your own drinking water for your stay in the hospital, right? My standards were raised significantly after Benjamin was born—at the American Fork hospital you call in your order like room service and they bring your individually-tailored meal to you still warm (and it really was pretty good food).

I think it might have been a weekend slump because they brought me a card on Monday morning so I could choose the rest of my food for the day (terrible timing because I was being discharged) but for the whole weekend they just sent up whatever.

I have a habit of having my children on weekend slumps.

Are weekend slumps a real thing? I've been told they are. Like the staff just isn't quite as invested in their work. I had wonderful nurses, truthfully, but...I've just heard they're a thing.

Anyway, here are a few more pictures of Zoë:

She has small nasal passages, so I'm told, and developed a nice big booger back there that no one could get out. I tried. Various nurses tried. The pediatrician tried. The poor baby was snorting like a pig the whole time we were in the hospital. Eventually they gave her nasal drops but that only made her sneeze a lot (and didn't fix the booger problem).

Fortunately, getting boogers out is one of Daddy's special talents. He had it out within hours of her coming home. No joke. I was like, "How?!"

But I think part of it was the dry hospital air because even I was feeling a little stuffy. But now that I'm back in our much-more-humid home I'm doing much better.

Here she is mid-sneeze:

And look! She has happy eyes for once! This face says, "Maybe life won't be so bad after all."

I so badly wanted to go home with the boys when they left us. But, alas, Zoë and I were in for another night at the hospital. It was a better night, that's for sure, but I just like to get home to my own bed after having babies (even with all the chaos of other children).