Nora turned THREE months old yesterday. It's ridonkulous how quickly she's growing, as I think I've mentioned before.
In the past month she has begun smiling and interacting much more, holding her head up very well, and sleeping for longer than 45 minutes at a time—in fact she slept through the night five times in the past week. I'm trying not to say that too loudly, because after I spent yesterday bragging about it, she decided to wake up at 2 a.m. last night and insist on nursing nonstop for the rest of the night. No complaints, though; she'll only be this tiny once, and when she's 13 I'll be longing for the days that she needed me so much.
In the past month Nora has also had some run-ins with my less-than-stellar parenting. About a week and a half ago, she fell off the couch after I placed her precariously and walked away. It was awful, and I was sure I had given her her first concussion. But she was fine, despite lots of tears from both of us. Then on Friday, while we were out for a walk with some friends, I stopped her stroller and turned to talk to my friend. My friend looked up from buttoning her baby into the Bjorn, screamed, and ran after Nora's stroller as it was rolling into a busy street. I had done absolutely everything wrong: I didn't use the brake or the wrist-leash, and I stopped the stroller right at the top of a fire station driveway—wheel pointed streetward. On that same walk, I also forgot a blanket and a hat, so Nora got her first (minor) sunburn. And today she was hit in the face by Sidamo's football.
So yeah, this whole three-month mark is a little more of an achievement than it seems at first glance. Way to survive it, baby!