Five things about my new daughter that freak me out a little

It’s been a fortnight and she’s doing really well, but there are a couple of things that still give me pause.

One. Nappy time

It’s not dealing with newborn poo, obviously: never will her excrement be more of a fragrant, low-volume delight to deal with than now. It’s the whole new set of genitals. I was worried about wiping up, but that seems OK so far. Dr L and I have been considering what we should actually call her genitals as vagina sounds pretty cold and clinical, and doesn’t even describe the whole situation, but that issue is not that pressing. No, it’s the wee. With J-Cloth, any surprise urine was trumpeted to the ceiling and accompanied by the sound of soft rainfall; with Beef, it seeps out to form a (sometimes not so) tiny pool beneath her. Noiseless ninja-wee.

  
Two. Breastfeeding

Boobs are infinitesimally amazing, but still don’t seem perfectly designed for feeding new humans. And I know breastfeeding isn’t for everyone: it’s hard, hard graft; it doesn’t always work out; and renders people pretty much immobile for hours at a time. However, it’s like smoking. There are several excellent health and other reasons not to choose to do it. But it also looks really fecking cool.

Three. Her delicate fingers and toes
Jasper had feet like little wedges and fingers like baby bananas. Perhaps we now have a tiny Chopin in the family?

  
Four. Her octopus moves

This is something that was also true of her big brother, but I’d completely forgotten about it until I saw her lifted aloft in the delivery room. She moved like an octopus: blind, unconscious groping movement with floppy, undeveloped muscles, as she lay in a cot that looked a little like a tank. Maybe not the most appealing image ever conjured, but there’s something deeply, creepily cool about it.

Five. The pink!

Hang on: it’ll come to me. It’s just that five sounds way better than four, doesn’t it?

No, I’ve remembered! It was the pink. She was so pink when she was born that she earned the nickname Beef. She was a deep, roast-beef pink; her blood was right up, and for hours. The name Daffodil was relegated to the margins.

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