I think Grayson may be going through a growth spurt. The last couple of nights he has woken after only 5-6 hours of sleep and needed a good 15-20 minute feeding to get him through the last three hours. Interrupted sleep is never good sleep for me. He's also eating for longer periods during the day, greatly reducing my effectiveness at housework (there's only so much laundry a person can fold with one arm), although we've finished reading the Frog and Toad series and will easily finish The Little Prince later today. I've also been pumping every night after he goes to bed, trying to stock up for our little Cancun getaway next week, and I'll tell you, I'm a tired mommy. While it's taking a toll on me physically, however, I dare say the emotional toll is even greater.
My baby is growing up, and I want him to stop. I don't use my Boppy for support while breastfeeding anymore because he's big enough now for my leg or lap to support my arm. He moved into his own room last Saturday, and I can't remember the last time he let us swaddle him for bedtime - he likes having his arms free. He still smiles all the time and talks up a storm, but over the last week, he's begun reaching for and grabbing things - rattles, burp cloths, my shirt and fingers - and eating them. He's really perfected his grip and even holds the sides of the bottle when Josh is feeding him. He's officially outgrown his newborn sleepsack and all of his 0-3 month jammies, and I had to buy him a 3-6 month outfit for Nick's wedding. While all of these changes are exciting, and I'm absolutely in love with his personality, I've found myself missing his younger version, especially during these early morning feedings when it's just Grayson, me, and the memories of not-so-long-ago when getting together to eat at 4am was the norm. Never emotional before, I've found tears now flow easily when I look at my baby.
Here he is in the smallest outfit we took to the hospital when he was born. We didn't realize he'd be so tiny: