Happy one week old, Amalie! This is a photo of her in one of her favorite configurations: scrunched up like a little frog and swaddled up like a chunk of sushi. Of course, given that it has become so hot here this week, she is in actuality spending more time in her second favorite configuration: practically naked.
Amalie's a good baby. She does get fussy around matters of food, and she seems to think about food all the time. We took her to the pediatrician on Monday, and he told us that she has lost a little weight since she was discharged from the hospital (she's 7 pounds 2 ounces now), so we need to bulk her up. I've been trying to let her dictate when and how much she eats...which basically means that she snacks for 45 minutes, sleeps for 5, fusses, then snacks for another 45.
The transition to parenthood has been a surreal one for Dad and Mom, but I think we're doing as well as can be expected.
Poor Angus, on the other hand, is having some difficulty accepting our new addition. He is torn: he wants to hang out with us and rub his face on us and the furniture like he usually does, but he is terrified of Amalie and must suppress the urge to flee in order to do so. It's like I told Jon: he has realized that on the Driscoll totem pole, he's basically the sneakers.