Atlas, my boy, I know you are teeny, I know you are tired, I know you are fragile, but please please please be nice to your Mommy. Through some very patient hard work, we have managed to get him to a whopping 6 pounds. WHOPPING.
He obviously was not ready for this eating challenge. Why did ya have to come out early then? He does not like to open his mouth. He does not like to wake up. He does not respond to stripping off his clothes, a cold cloth, an ice pack even. He is gassy. He screams when he has a burp that he can't get out, which is every 5 minutes. He spits up like an active volcano on constant high alert. He is still fighting jaundice, which makes him more tired. In fact he's been on the high end of the accepted levels in his bilirubin since birth, even with two days of photothreapy. I almost wish he was beyond the threshold so he can have more phototherapy to help him out, just a little. This preemie thing has been frustrating yet lovely at the same time. Sleep has eluded me long ago, but the more hours I'm awake the more I get to see this little precious face. So am I complaining? Yes. No! Sorta. I guess. I should stop.