The Thrill of Routine

Charlie is 11 days old now. It'll be cliche to write something like "I can't believe how fast the time is going," so let me put it a different way: The earth is clearly closer to the sun now, as a day could not possibly still be 24 hours, so fast are the pages of my calendar flying off. (Please fill in something better, if you will...that line was as weak as this coffee that is barely sustaining my life at this moment.)

So yes, some things are going very fast, and this has to be an outcome of his routine. 97 people (or so) have told me that babies "eat, sleep, and poop--that's it!" That is true if you're a person who views her career as "drive, type, cash" or a marriage as "ring, food, couch." I cannot fathom looking at Charlie's first couple of weeks of outside life as just a few items, especially those so low on Maslow's hierarchy.



Where the eat/sleep/poop circle of life is something I embrace is as a routine. He eats at set times. He sleeps at set times. He poops unpredictably, but we check him at set times. He's in a structure. When I wake him up for his 2:30 a.m. feeding, he's smacking his mouth and nibbling on his finger just then. When he wakes at 9:00 p.m., we're prepared because he's decided that this is his time to check out the local scene.

Why this is a thrill is because he has set his own parameters for the standard stuff so I can be ready for the new discoveries each day is bringing. By knowing when my focus is on basic needs, I am extra attentive for the times in between. Three days ago I made him smile with a fake sneeze, and he still recognizes that as something positive. He hushes from fussy moments almost immediately when Lisa embraces him on her chest with some silly talk. His siblings all have their gibberish phrases for him, and he responds in unique ways. These are part of his routine as well--his response gives us reason to repeat the behavior, to celebrate his seeming happiness.

Tomorrow, he may cry for a bottle unexpectedly at 11:00 a.m., or wake at 2:00 p.m. Then, caught off guard, I may miss a new movement his eye makes, or some new sound, or a new way he reaches for my finger with his hand. But then he'll do it the next time, when a new routine begins and I finally notice something he's done three times for the first time. The enjoyment is in those moments. The excitement is waiting for them, with a smile and an ever-expanding heart.