As Promised

I understand the confusion, little dude . . . uh, dudette.

Yeah, Poppy pretty much lives in this gender-inappropriate sleeper. And the reason she lives in it is that it has a zipper.

May I take this opportunity to remind you of my loathing for snaps on infant apparel? It has not abated after almost eight years and four children.

Poppy is currently clad in a different sleeper that has pink edging and a pink bird on the butt (I don't know why, either). It's very cute and all, but I will only put it on her during the day when I have to wash the zippered sleeper. I must have the zippered sleeper clean and ready to go by night, so that I'm not blearily trying to match up snaps during a 3 a.m. diaper change.

The 3 p.m. diaper changes are marginally less bleary, so she only wears the snaps on whatever day ends up being wash day for the masculine-but-zippered sleeper.

No, I don't wash it every day. Maybe every three days. She hasn't complained yet.

And now that I've gone on for several paragraphs about baby pajamas--my life really is just this thrilling, yes--I'll just quickly share that Poppy took to nursing so enthusiastically that she didn't lose the customary weight in the first few days of her life, instead gaining over an ounce in the time between leaving the hospital and going to the pediatrician on Monday.

Mommy's Little Bruiser, more like.

Also, she actually sleeps relatively well, although last night was not so great, as you could tell if you could see my red-rimmed eyes. I can't remember if my other children were this way in the beginning and then it all went to hell after a couple of weeks, but I can always cross my fingers that she'll be one of those mythical babies that sleeps through the night after, like, three weeks or something.

Or maybe she'll transform into Raging Colic Baby after three weeks! Who can tell? The uncertainty is what makes infants so exciting.

Or something.