Everything and All

Josephine is finding her voice these days, trying on a new little trill that rises and falls and sounds like a cross between laughter and annoyance. It's pretty wonderful, really, and I can see her singular personality coming out a little more every day. I could be wrong, but I don't think she's going to be as performative or goofy as her brother. She seems more cautious, more serious so far, which makes those bursts of laughter all the more delightful when they come.

Not so delightful is the fact that she's still refusing to take a bottle. I have to admit to feeling very defeated by this lately. Today I even opened the can of hypoallergenic formula and tried to feed her that. Why I thought I could tempt her with such an incredibly foul smelling liquid when she routinely rejects lovely breast milk is a mystery even to me. Suffice it to say it didn't work. So I remain the sole food source (what an odd thing to be) for the time being, as our initial introduction to solids also didn't take. She'll be five months old in a week and maybe I'll break out the pears again then.

The other fact of our life right now is that Josephine will *not* tolerate being held by/left with anyone but me or Paul. This includes our sitter, Megan, who she has seen every week since she was born. It doesn't seem to matter--she knows who's who and who is not, to be specific, me. Maybe it's that she is still recovering from so many months of hurting and she feels best comforted by me or maybe she is just a very sensitive person. Whatever it is, I hope she outgrows it soon so that all the people who love her (you who are reading!) will get to enjoy her and she you.

As much as I know this time is temporary, the double whammy of won't-take-a-bottle and won't-let-anyone-else-hold-her is really taking a toll on me. It means, for instance, that I can't be gone from her for more than two or three hours. I know there is a school of thought that says "she'll eat if she gets hungry enough," but I am simply not comfortable with the idea of forcing her into bottle feeding by leaving her for hours upon hours. Maybe this means I have no room to complain or wish for a break, but there it is.

I'll hang in there with her. Of course I will. Most days I love being a mother, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard-- really hard-- to be someone's everything and all.