Maxwell 101

In the three weeks Max has been on this planet, I've learned something about him almost each day.

Sometimes I have to unlearn, when what I thought was the beginning of a sleeping-feeding pattern turned out to be a fluke, or when I figured out an even better way to bathe him.

Some gems about Maxwell Charles:

The Poopy Face: When Max is about to fill his diaper, he gets a very concerned scrunch to his eyebrows and a tight lemon juice purse to his lips. This is quite helpful mid-diaper change, which apparently is one of his favorite times to poop some more.

Formal Dining: Max likes to take his meals in courses. He needs a quick hit of an appetizer, and then a little snooze. Don't bother trying to rouse him, he sleeps like a drugged cat at the vet after this first hit. When he does wake, he'll take a medium entree, as if he's trying to impress a date who happens to be a nutritionist. Just enough to get what he needs. I mistakenly thought this was the end of our dietary education and all that he needed. He seemed happy enough after such a nursing, albeit a short period that needed to be repeated two hours later, and he was gaining weight just fine. But we took an annex course recently. I learned that after a big burp and often a diaper change, and perhaps one more quick snooze or even 10 or 15 minutes of play time, Max then will order a huge dessert course. Not just one slice -- the whole pie, please. This is helping a great deal with engorgement, or what a I like to call Goodyear Blimp-ment.

He-Man: For as pleasant and often quiet as he is, my big boy is strong and vigorous. "Squirmy" is the word his father often uses. He holds his head up so well that we're already getting forgetful about holding his neck steady at all times. So far the occasional wild lean to one side hasn't hurt him yet.


Eau de Toilette: After my elegantly perfumed mother holds him for a bit, Max will smell like cookies for a good hour.

Zombie Brains: Max is at his most content when he is self-soothing by sliding an arm over his head and rubbing the back of it with his hand. This is the very in-utero position that precipitated a C-section delivery, and he still seems to like it very much. He just gently rubs his head for a few moments, staring off into space, and then will quietly lie there looking at me as if to say, "OK, I'm ready for whatever is next. Pick me up, woman."

I've learned a few things about myself in these past three weeks as well.

I apparently can physically operate on sleep recorded in minutes. I don't think I've hit a full hour yet.

I can do a great many tasks with only one hand, and I've renewed my great skill at picking up things with my feet. This is quite helpful when you have a 9-pound infant in one hand at most times during the day.

I am growing increasingly reliant on the wisdom of my cousin, whose experience with a newborn was just a year and a half ago. The threads of my sanity are knotted together by a few well-timed texts and phone calls.

Even though I am eager to watch his development and curious about the boy he will become, I also wish Max would stay this little forever.

But I know that won't happen. I'll just enjoy now as much as I can.