I was thinking that I was done with the baby blues. I hadn't cried for absolutely no reason in quite some time. Sure, I still tear up at heartwarming and heartbreaking stories. But I think that has more to do with being related to my overly sentimental dad.

Then today after my post partum doctor's visit, Kirk had a weight check. He's lost an ounce. What?! He eats constantly. Sure, he's begun doing this new thing where he'll get all frantic when first put up to the boob. But after he crabs for a few minutes, he'll latch on and begin nursing. I know he's getting food because he's gone to the opposite extreme and is now pooping almost every diaper change. Doc was totally unconcerned, said to try to "top him off" with a bottle after each feeding, and bring him in for another weight check on Friday.

So I went home and told Mr. b the news. He freaked out. And I started crying. I felt like it was my fault. Like I was somehow doing something wrong and that's why he hasn't gained any weight. Like if I changed something or was better in some way there wouldn't be a problem and he'd be packing it on and we wouldn't have to worry.

And now we're blasting through all the milk I had in the fridge and will probably go back to supplementing with formula since I can't pump constantly. There go my plans to start freezing it.

The Kirk Shelf
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