One month old!

Only a month later, the Mister and I have pulled together some photos of Baby L to put on official announcements we're sending out. (Like the 400 emails we sent weren't "official." But I digress.)

Because I'm neurotic that way, I'm not posting any photos of our Boy online for fear of weird Internet stalkers and whatever. (You'll notice I haven't posted any photos of myself or the Mister, either).

But if you'd like to see what our Boy looks like AND I have a sense of who you are (i.e., you're a regular commenter here, or I read your blog and pretty much know you already), I'll send you a email. If, for whatever reason, you request to be on the photo list but I don't know you, I'm going to just skip sending out an email. No hard feelings, of course. But in this age of To Catch a Predator and Cyberbullying and all that, better safe than sorry.

In other news, Baby L had his one month checkup yesterday.

He's gained a terrific amount of weight, which pleases me. NOT because of my champion breastfeeding efforts, which at this point, have been retired. Due to a lack of efficiency, (still) low milk production, and frustration on both of our parts, the Boy and I have come to a mutual understanding that I will pump breastmilk for him every few hours, and I will stop attempting to solely feed him by boob alone.

As mentioned, likely over and over already, the Boy latches on, but can eat for an hour and I still have to give him a bottle of breast milk or formula. This makes feedings last for two hours or so, instead of the forty minutes a mere bottle or two would last.

And with the weather outside delightful for a change, who wants to stay inside focused on the feeding elements (bottle washing, latching and unlatching, arranging pillows to support the baby in my arms, etc. etc. etc.) when there's other things to do, like tummy time, cuddling, singing songs (Baby L likes U2, REM, Stevie Nicks and old '80s hits like "In A Big Country" and "Rio." I kid you not. Singing to my Boy is like starring in my own Kareoke festival.)

I'm still a bit nervous about stopping pumping entirely and giving the Boy formula only, with my nuttiness about assorted diseases coming and attacking him over the next fifty years. But when the pediatrician looks lovingly at our Boy and deems him "perfect" with every appointment, it eases my concerns.

At least it did yesterday.