One Month of Living

She's been in the world on her own for a month today.

It's been a month of baths with Daddy,


reading with Mummy,

and naps dreaming of being superman

She has gained 1365 grams (that's 3 pounds) and has grown 4 cm taller. She has learnt to hold her head up and has strong, kicking little legs. She curls up like a turtle when you unwrap her for a feed, and pulls a surprised, lemon-sucky face when she poops. She smiles when it's time for a feed, and sometimes afterwards too, when she's content and snuggling.

She loves baths, but has already outgrown the bathroom sink. She has learnt to focus her eyes, and likes to stare at light and patterns with start contrasts. This includes the pattern of the ridiculously ugly orange and brown tiles in the parents room at the local shopping centre.

She is blessed with excellent sleeping patterns, waking only once or twice during the night and then just for a feed. She self-settles. The fog of pregnancy has lifted considerably in the last week, and I am starting to feel like myself again.

Every day I have a shower before midday I feel a sense of achievement similar to that of brokering world peace. I don't think Mr Accident quite gets that, but he tries. I am obsessed, but still exhausted, and every time I return to the hospital for baby clinic the thought of giving her back briefly crosses my mind. But only very briefly.

I am still convinced she is perfect.