So I've not been sleeping. I can't blame it on the little one. Not totally, though it seems she's slipping into four month sleep regression, which doesn't help. Nope, it's all me. I can go to bed at midnight and still be awake when she wakes up to eat two hours later. The other night, I was awake all night. All. Night. It doesn't help that her 5 hour stretches of sleep have gone out the window and that after her morning feeding she seems to wake every hour. All this broken up sleep (I'm lucky to get five broken up hours a night) makes for a cranky mama.
So last night, she wakes up to eat. No problem, I was just laying in bed staring at the darkness anyway. Warmed her bottle, took her in the bedroom and fed her. Now usually, she can eat almost six ounces in less than twenty minutes. Not last night. Last night it took her FORTY-FIVE MINUTES. I can usually have her fed, changed and back to bed in that time! Being as tired as I was, I was feeling a bit cranky. I couldn't seem to get comfortable with her, and I was annoyed with myself that I didn't use the brown nipple instead of the clear one because she seems to drink better with the brown one. It seemed to take forever, but she finally finished, so I gave her a couple of minutes, then unswaddled her so I could burp her. What I do is lay her on the bed and unwrap her, and immediately put socks on her hands because they always go right for her face which often results in scratches. So, on go the socks, and I burp her and then take her to her room to change her.
As I'm changing her, she's chewing on her socks like she always does, pulling at them. Her right sock started coming off, just sort of dangling there from her knuckles, when she raised her hand to her forehead. That's when it completely came off. I look down at her, and the sock is now resting on her forehead between her eyebrows, and her eyes are crossed because she's looking up at it. Immediately, I busted up laughing, and she looks at me, sock still on her head, and as if recognizing that I'm laughing, she gives me a huge gummy grin. Damn I love this kid. The sock stayed on her head for a good minute before it fell off. I could have removed it, but it wasn't bothering her, and it was just too funny to mess with.
It seems like I can be having a horrible day, running on no sleep and the house is a mess and I have not showered in two days and she refuses to nap, when suddenly, she has me laughing. It only takes so much as a high-pitched coo, or leaving a sock on her head, and all is right with the world again. Like today, she sat in her swing while I prepared her bottle, and I heard that unmistakable sound of poop leaving her body and making diaper contact. I hoped for a fart, but I knew there was no such luck. I went to her swing where she looked up at me all innocently, and asked, "Did you poop?" Her response was a big smile. Yes, mama, I pooped, aren't you proud of me? I really don't know why I asked. For one, she's four months old and I wasn't expecting an answer. Two, I could practically smell it from the kitchen. She was so happy to poop that after I'd changed her and fed her, she pooped again. I knew there would be more because the first just wasn't substantial enough, I had just hoped to not have to do it before the smell from the first one had even dissipated from the room.
But still, I could only laugh. I told my husband, and he laughed as well, because sometimes, most times, it's all you can do.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
All Growed Up
Not quite. But I'm seeing lots of graduation photos being posted on Facebook, and comments of "I can't believe he's already graduating!" or "It was only yesterday she was in kindergarten!" and it makes me think that one day, I'll be saying the same thing. Already, my little one is three months and then some. That little tiny baby who only slept and ate and pooped is gone, replaced with a smiling, laughing, grabbing little munchkin who no longer wants to be held like a baby, but wants to stand upright on her chubby little legs. She's interested in everything around her, and her curiosity knows no bounds. The other day, I put a headband on her that didn't fit a couple of months ago, and when we went to show daddy, she smiled at him then hid her face in my shoulder like she was shy. Cutest. Thing. Ever.
But I digress.
I think of this very moment when it seems like 18 is so far away, and wonder where the time went and how she grew up so fast before my very eyes. I wonder about the person she'll be, but by then, I will know her in a different way than I know her now. Today, I can tell when she's tired; I know that her rubbing her eyes and now getting fussy means it's time for sleep. I know her hungry cry. I know that when she wakes for the day, she will coo and smile at me when I walk in to greet her. But I don't yet know the person she will be. However, I know the kind of person I hope her to be. I hope she grows to be stronger than her mama, able to stand up for herself the way her daddy does. I hope she knows that she can be her own person and have confidence in her decisions without worrying about what others will think. I hope she is kind, and is able to laugh at herself. I hope she figures out what she wants to be and goes for it. I hope she learns from her mistakes, and is not afraid to take chances. I hope she is not afraid to trust others but knows when to be cautious. I hope she finds what she is passionate about and doesn't let it go. And I hope she loves with all her heart.
And lastly, I hope that tonight she goes to sleep because she refused to nap today.
But I digress.
I think of this very moment when it seems like 18 is so far away, and wonder where the time went and how she grew up so fast before my very eyes. I wonder about the person she'll be, but by then, I will know her in a different way than I know her now. Today, I can tell when she's tired; I know that her rubbing her eyes and now getting fussy means it's time for sleep. I know her hungry cry. I know that when she wakes for the day, she will coo and smile at me when I walk in to greet her. But I don't yet know the person she will be. However, I know the kind of person I hope her to be. I hope she grows to be stronger than her mama, able to stand up for herself the way her daddy does. I hope she knows that she can be her own person and have confidence in her decisions without worrying about what others will think. I hope she is kind, and is able to laugh at herself. I hope she figures out what she wants to be and goes for it. I hope she learns from her mistakes, and is not afraid to take chances. I hope she is not afraid to trust others but knows when to be cautious. I hope she finds what she is passionate about and doesn't let it go. And I hope she loves with all her heart.
And lastly, I hope that tonight she goes to sleep because she refused to nap today.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Ghetto Cars
You know the ones. They're fifteen years old yet sport a spoiler in back, and as they drive by, you can hear the WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP of the bass from their $1200 stereo system before you see them. The owners do not know the concept of a muffler, and if they're fancy enough to have a muffler, the engine is so loud that it really doesn't matter.
No, ghetto car drivers, you are not cool. You are ghetto. This is not to berate those who drive fifteen-year-old clunkers. I've driven one myself. I berate the people who deliberately make their cars as loud as they can make them, then drive by my house and wake up my sleeping baby, after it took me twenty minutes to get her to sleep. If you can spend that much money tricking out your car (is that even the term?), can you not put the money towards, I don't know, a better car?
It's funny how things that just sort of annoyed you before, can now enrage you when there is a child in the picture.
No, ghetto car drivers, you are not cool. You are ghetto. This is not to berate those who drive fifteen-year-old clunkers. I've driven one myself. I berate the people who deliberately make their cars as loud as they can make them, then drive by my house and wake up my sleeping baby, after it took me twenty minutes to get her to sleep. If you can spend that much money tricking out your car (is that even the term?), can you not put the money towards, I don't know, a better car?
It's funny how things that just sort of annoyed you before, can now enrage you when there is a child in the picture.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Lucky Mama
We may have made it through the growth spurt. We were suspicious of teeth, thinking she was one of the early ones. But, the fussiness seems to have passed for the most part, and my happy baby has returned (tomorrow, I may regret jinxing ourselves by writing this).
Despite those days of fussiness and long crying jags and crankiness, I know that we are lucky. We have a good baby. A baby who's very tolerant and only cries when something is bothering her. She does not cry when her mom is trying to get her shirt over her head and can't quite do it without squishing her little nose. She does not fuss when her mom is taking a million photos and moving her this way and that. When she wakes for the day (usually around 10am after going back to sleep at around 7am), she does not wake up crying and mad. Nope. She wakes up cooing, as if she's talking to the characters on her wall, and telling stories to the little critters that are suspended above her. I lay in bed, listening to her and smiling, enjoying it. Sometimes she'll let out a really long coo, a real baby sound like you would hear on television, and my husband and I will laugh. After about ten minutes, the coos turn to "okay it's time to come get me" noises, so we'll go in and stand over her crib (that is, if hubby is not at work, otherwise it's just mama). She looks at us, and immediately smiles. The open-mouthed, gummy smile that immediately brings a smile to my own face. "Good morning!" I'll say. And she smiles again, kicking her little feet for all she's worth. Yep, we are very lucky.
I hear of other moms who's little ones have colic or reflux or are, for one reason or another, difficult babies, and I thank my lucky stars that we haven't had to worry about any of this. That's not to say it's been easy. For the first two weeks, we were zombies. Clueless, exhausted zombies. How much do we feed her? Is she still hungry? Should we put her down for a nap? Why is she crying? Was that poop or a fart? Is this normal? Oh, it was an experience. The most difficult thing we've ever done. These little tiny creatures are 100% dependent on you, and when you both feel as if you have no idea what you're doing, it can be overwhelming!
But oh, that feeling of her little body asleep on my chest. Her soft skin, her warm breath in my ear. Those impossibly tiny fingers gripping on to yours while she studies your face and you study hers. It's been only three months, but even now it's difficult to remember just how tiny she was. But the other day, I was holding her on my chest, and her legs reached my lap, and I realized that when she was first born, she would be all scrunched up, her knees pulled up, and her feet were nowhere near my lap!
Sniff...
Knowing how fast the time is going makes me sad, but as my husband says, I can't spend her days being sad, because before we know it, the time will have come and gone and I'll have spent it being sad! For now, I'll enjoy it. Yes, there will be times when she refuses to nap and I will get frustrated because for the love of god I only want a shower. And there will be times when I'm rushed and can't lay on the floor next to her while she bats at her toys. But I'll always know how lucky we are to have her, and how lucky we are to have a baby who doesn't seem to mind that her parents are still a little clueless.
Despite those days of fussiness and long crying jags and crankiness, I know that we are lucky. We have a good baby. A baby who's very tolerant and only cries when something is bothering her. She does not cry when her mom is trying to get her shirt over her head and can't quite do it without squishing her little nose. She does not fuss when her mom is taking a million photos and moving her this way and that. When she wakes for the day (usually around 10am after going back to sleep at around 7am), she does not wake up crying and mad. Nope. She wakes up cooing, as if she's talking to the characters on her wall, and telling stories to the little critters that are suspended above her. I lay in bed, listening to her and smiling, enjoying it. Sometimes she'll let out a really long coo, a real baby sound like you would hear on television, and my husband and I will laugh. After about ten minutes, the coos turn to "okay it's time to come get me" noises, so we'll go in and stand over her crib (that is, if hubby is not at work, otherwise it's just mama). She looks at us, and immediately smiles. The open-mouthed, gummy smile that immediately brings a smile to my own face. "Good morning!" I'll say. And she smiles again, kicking her little feet for all she's worth. Yep, we are very lucky.
I hear of other moms who's little ones have colic or reflux or are, for one reason or another, difficult babies, and I thank my lucky stars that we haven't had to worry about any of this. That's not to say it's been easy. For the first two weeks, we were zombies. Clueless, exhausted zombies. How much do we feed her? Is she still hungry? Should we put her down for a nap? Why is she crying? Was that poop or a fart? Is this normal? Oh, it was an experience. The most difficult thing we've ever done. These little tiny creatures are 100% dependent on you, and when you both feel as if you have no idea what you're doing, it can be overwhelming!
But oh, that feeling of her little body asleep on my chest. Her soft skin, her warm breath in my ear. Those impossibly tiny fingers gripping on to yours while she studies your face and you study hers. It's been only three months, but even now it's difficult to remember just how tiny she was. But the other day, I was holding her on my chest, and her legs reached my lap, and I realized that when she was first born, she would be all scrunched up, her knees pulled up, and her feet were nowhere near my lap!
Sniff...
Knowing how fast the time is going makes me sad, but as my husband says, I can't spend her days being sad, because before we know it, the time will have come and gone and I'll have spent it being sad! For now, I'll enjoy it. Yes, there will be times when she refuses to nap and I will get frustrated because for the love of god I only want a shower. And there will be times when I'm rushed and can't lay on the floor next to her while she bats at her toys. But I'll always know how lucky we are to have her, and how lucky we are to have a baby who doesn't seem to mind that her parents are still a little clueless.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Her Beginning
I should be in bed. Seriously, she's going to wake up in an hour or so, and I'm going to once again say, "why didn't I go to bed at eleven?" Instead, I'm writing here. I thought it fitting that I write about when our little girl arrived into our world.
It was not a movie-of-the-week kind of delivery. She was due on March 4th (soldier's day was how I remembered it), and on February 23rd, at 3am, my water broke. We were asleep at the time (once again, we went to bed late and had only been in bed for maybe two hours. We regretted this later as it was our last chance for sleep. Ever.), and I awoke feeling...something. I sat up and knew that something was happening. I made it to our little bathroom without waking the hubby who had worked backshift the night before and hadn't gotten much sleep afterwards so probably wouldn't have woken up had my water broken and flooded the room. It became immediately obvious to me that yes, my water had just broken. But what does an almost-New Mom do? I can't claim that I was uber prepared. I read a pregnancy book, but didn't know the technicalities of what one did when their water broke and there was no contractions. Did one wait for them to come? So I waited. I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes. I went out into the kitchen and looked up the number I was given to call if I thought I was going into labour. I considered calling it. Me, being as naive and unprepared as I was, thought that if there were no contractions, they would send you home from the hospital sans baby and tell you it was false labour.
So I continued to wait alone, not wanting to wake my sleeping husband who was still snoring soundly. After a half an hour of quiet pacing and a few trips to the bathroom, I decided I better do SOMETHING. Very quietly, I went back to our room and gave my husband's foot a little shake. Surprisingly, he awoke, and picked his head up in the dark to look at me. I whispered, "I don't want you to panic, but I think my water broke. I'm going to call the hospital to see what they say." And panic he did not.
I called the hospital, they asked a few questions, and told me to come in. "Oh...Really?" was my response, as if I expected them to say, "Call back when you feel contractions." I went back and told my half-sleeping husband the news. There was no panic at all. There was just getting up, getting dressed, and making sure I had everything in my bag I thought I might need (it was almost all packed, yet I would discover later that there were things I wished I had but didn't). He went and installed the car seat, because we were like, super prepared for this event, and then we were on our way, leaving the house for what may have been the last time as a family of two.
Still, I had no idea that this was it. In my mind, I still could come home still pregnant, and even had said this to C. But then the nurse informed me that yes, this was it. "Oh..." I said again. Really? Wow, I must have impressed.
We settled in, and tried to get some sleep, but it just wasn't going to happen. Nurses checking up on me, doctor checking up on me, phone calls to be made. After a night of catnaps (C now going on two nights with no sleep), we were already tired. His parents showed up later that morning, as did his brother and his brother's girlfriend. It made it real. I was having a baby.
It was explained to me after a few hours of still nothing happening that it was possible that I would have to be induced. Okay, no problem, I was cool with that. Noon time came, and our little one had decided that she was going to stay right where she was at. So induction it was.
It wasn't until 2:45pm that my contractions began. I did not enjoy them. After a while, the room became quiet when it became clear that I was in pain, enough pain for quiet tears. My best friend arrived, but by this point, I was not much for conversation. C's parents had left earlier, and now the room cleared except for me and C, because it was evident that things were moving along.
I am not going to pretend that I had any plan of a natural, drug-free birth. Judge me if you will, but I chose drugs. A few hours later, I was begging for the epidural. The breathing bullshit? Yeah, that did nothing for me. Maybe it did, maybe it would have been worse had I not done it, but by the end, I threw the mask which gave me the laughing gas (it was NOT funny) because it was only in the way. Then the lady with the drugs appeared, and it was like an angel coming into the room, yet I could not pick her out of a lineup if my life depended on it. I only remember sitting up and being told all the risks which I "yeah...yeah"-ed my way through, and that I could not move during the procedure. I opened my eyes as the prepped me for the first time, and was surprised to see C sitting there wearing a surgical mask. I'm sure I must've looked confused, because I don't even remember him being asked to put it on. I was experiencing contractions as the needle was inserted into my spine, but at the risk of having to wait to have it done again, I willed myself to stay absolutely still as the pain went through my body from the contractions. They had been less than a minute apart by this point.
Then....it went away. The pain. It was gone, and there was only blessed relief. I was a new woman. I shivered like I was on ice, but I don't remember feeling cold. I was exhausted, but so damn relieved I could have kissed the anesthesiologist whom I could not identify in a line-up. I rested, even closed my eyes for short naps, and if I remember correctly, my husband did as well. He had sat by my side throughout the contractions, holding my hand while I squeezed the life out of his, encouraging me, counting with me, telling me to breathe. He says now that he has never felt so helpless in his life.
Four hours later, it was time to push. By this point, it felt like half the hospital had seen the fun that was my lady parts, and I couldn't have cared less. I pushed for two hours and ate ice chips that tasted like nectar of the gods. I asked for the recipe for those ice chips, because I had never tasted frozen water so delicious.
Then, after two hours of pushing and feeling like nothing was happening, something was happening. My daughter was being born. Her head was out, and then, as my husband described, it was as if I pushed and she squirted across the table into the doctor's hands. I felt no pain as she traveled outside of me, but I felt her, and my jaw dropped at the miracle that was occurring. The fact that I was giving birth to a baby, our baby, and that I could feel it happening had actually caused my jaw to drop in awe.
With one final push, she arrived into the world, and suddenly, on February 24, 2011 at 2:02am, we were three. Having not known whether we were having a daughter or son but having been told by the majority of the guessers that we were having a boy, we could've been knocked over with a feather when we were told that we had a baby girl. I cried with joy, and I remember saying something like, "We have a girl!". I couldn't say out loud that I wanted a girl in case we did have a boy, because a boy would not have been a disappointment (as long as it was one or the other, I liked to say). But when we found out that she was a SHE, it was like winning the lottery. I had no idea how much I'd wanted a girl until we had one.
As per my request, they cleaned her up before handing her to me (maybe that's terrible, but I did not want my first meeting with my baby to be of her covered in my uterus juice). When it was time to hold her, I still can't remember if she was swaddled, if she as naked, or if we were skin-to-skin. I only remember that she was trying to look at up me. Her tiny little eyes were trying to see her mama for the first time in that dim light, as if she wanted to put a face to that voice she'd heard for the last few months. She was here, and she was beautiful. Perfect. She cried only for a moment when she was born, then was finished.
They say you forget the pain of childbirth after your child is born. I disagree. I did not forget, but it no longer mattered. It's the worst pain I have ever experienced, followed by the most incredible feeling I'd ever felt. I had given birth to a baby girl, and I was a Mom. We were now responsible for this tiny, beautiful creature who was only minutes old and who would depend on us for many years to come. It was a scary feeling.
But love trumps fear. She's here and rules this house, and it's wonderful.
It was not a movie-of-the-week kind of delivery. She was due on March 4th (soldier's day was how I remembered it), and on February 23rd, at 3am, my water broke. We were asleep at the time (once again, we went to bed late and had only been in bed for maybe two hours. We regretted this later as it was our last chance for sleep. Ever.), and I awoke feeling...something. I sat up and knew that something was happening. I made it to our little bathroom without waking the hubby who had worked backshift the night before and hadn't gotten much sleep afterwards so probably wouldn't have woken up had my water broken and flooded the room. It became immediately obvious to me that yes, my water had just broken. But what does an almost-New Mom do? I can't claim that I was uber prepared. I read a pregnancy book, but didn't know the technicalities of what one did when their water broke and there was no contractions. Did one wait for them to come? So I waited. I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes. I went out into the kitchen and looked up the number I was given to call if I thought I was going into labour. I considered calling it. Me, being as naive and unprepared as I was, thought that if there were no contractions, they would send you home from the hospital sans baby and tell you it was false labour.
So I continued to wait alone, not wanting to wake my sleeping husband who was still snoring soundly. After a half an hour of quiet pacing and a few trips to the bathroom, I decided I better do SOMETHING. Very quietly, I went back to our room and gave my husband's foot a little shake. Surprisingly, he awoke, and picked his head up in the dark to look at me. I whispered, "I don't want you to panic, but I think my water broke. I'm going to call the hospital to see what they say." And panic he did not.
I called the hospital, they asked a few questions, and told me to come in. "Oh...Really?" was my response, as if I expected them to say, "Call back when you feel contractions." I went back and told my half-sleeping husband the news. There was no panic at all. There was just getting up, getting dressed, and making sure I had everything in my bag I thought I might need (it was almost all packed, yet I would discover later that there were things I wished I had but didn't). He went and installed the car seat, because we were like, super prepared for this event, and then we were on our way, leaving the house for what may have been the last time as a family of two.
Still, I had no idea that this was it. In my mind, I still could come home still pregnant, and even had said this to C. But then the nurse informed me that yes, this was it. "Oh..." I said again. Really? Wow, I must have impressed.
We settled in, and tried to get some sleep, but it just wasn't going to happen. Nurses checking up on me, doctor checking up on me, phone calls to be made. After a night of catnaps (C now going on two nights with no sleep), we were already tired. His parents showed up later that morning, as did his brother and his brother's girlfriend. It made it real. I was having a baby.
It was explained to me after a few hours of still nothing happening that it was possible that I would have to be induced. Okay, no problem, I was cool with that. Noon time came, and our little one had decided that she was going to stay right where she was at. So induction it was.
It wasn't until 2:45pm that my contractions began. I did not enjoy them. After a while, the room became quiet when it became clear that I was in pain, enough pain for quiet tears. My best friend arrived, but by this point, I was not much for conversation. C's parents had left earlier, and now the room cleared except for me and C, because it was evident that things were moving along.
I am not going to pretend that I had any plan of a natural, drug-free birth. Judge me if you will, but I chose drugs. A few hours later, I was begging for the epidural. The breathing bullshit? Yeah, that did nothing for me. Maybe it did, maybe it would have been worse had I not done it, but by the end, I threw the mask which gave me the laughing gas (it was NOT funny) because it was only in the way. Then the lady with the drugs appeared, and it was like an angel coming into the room, yet I could not pick her out of a lineup if my life depended on it. I only remember sitting up and being told all the risks which I "yeah...yeah"-ed my way through, and that I could not move during the procedure. I opened my eyes as the prepped me for the first time, and was surprised to see C sitting there wearing a surgical mask. I'm sure I must've looked confused, because I don't even remember him being asked to put it on. I was experiencing contractions as the needle was inserted into my spine, but at the risk of having to wait to have it done again, I willed myself to stay absolutely still as the pain went through my body from the contractions. They had been less than a minute apart by this point.
Then....it went away. The pain. It was gone, and there was only blessed relief. I was a new woman. I shivered like I was on ice, but I don't remember feeling cold. I was exhausted, but so damn relieved I could have kissed the anesthesiologist whom I could not identify in a line-up. I rested, even closed my eyes for short naps, and if I remember correctly, my husband did as well. He had sat by my side throughout the contractions, holding my hand while I squeezed the life out of his, encouraging me, counting with me, telling me to breathe. He says now that he has never felt so helpless in his life.
Four hours later, it was time to push. By this point, it felt like half the hospital had seen the fun that was my lady parts, and I couldn't have cared less. I pushed for two hours and ate ice chips that tasted like nectar of the gods. I asked for the recipe for those ice chips, because I had never tasted frozen water so delicious.
Then, after two hours of pushing and feeling like nothing was happening, something was happening. My daughter was being born. Her head was out, and then, as my husband described, it was as if I pushed and she squirted across the table into the doctor's hands. I felt no pain as she traveled outside of me, but I felt her, and my jaw dropped at the miracle that was occurring. The fact that I was giving birth to a baby, our baby, and that I could feel it happening had actually caused my jaw to drop in awe.
With one final push, she arrived into the world, and suddenly, on February 24, 2011 at 2:02am, we were three. Having not known whether we were having a daughter or son but having been told by the majority of the guessers that we were having a boy, we could've been knocked over with a feather when we were told that we had a baby girl. I cried with joy, and I remember saying something like, "We have a girl!". I couldn't say out loud that I wanted a girl in case we did have a boy, because a boy would not have been a disappointment (as long as it was one or the other, I liked to say). But when we found out that she was a SHE, it was like winning the lottery. I had no idea how much I'd wanted a girl until we had one.
As per my request, they cleaned her up before handing her to me (maybe that's terrible, but I did not want my first meeting with my baby to be of her covered in my uterus juice). When it was time to hold her, I still can't remember if she was swaddled, if she as naked, or if we were skin-to-skin. I only remember that she was trying to look at up me. Her tiny little eyes were trying to see her mama for the first time in that dim light, as if she wanted to put a face to that voice she'd heard for the last few months. She was here, and she was beautiful. Perfect. She cried only for a moment when she was born, then was finished.
They say you forget the pain of childbirth after your child is born. I disagree. I did not forget, but it no longer mattered. It's the worst pain I have ever experienced, followed by the most incredible feeling I'd ever felt. I had given birth to a baby girl, and I was a Mom. We were now responsible for this tiny, beautiful creature who was only minutes old and who would depend on us for many years to come. It was a scary feeling.
But love trumps fear. She's here and rules this house, and it's wonderful.
Hello, World, I Am A Mom
A new mom, to be exact. I think that requires capital letters. A New Mom. A Mom with a daughter who is 11 weeks old and is mostly sunshine with a little poop thrown in. A Mom who has an amazing husband who is not afraid of said poop, who is an amazing dad to our little one.
What will I write about? This is my first post, and I have one follower, and that is me. Because I'm weird about showing anyone what I write, I will most likely not even tell my husband or friends that I've started this blog until I decide I'm going to stick with it, and until I think that maybe it's not ridiculous. Why am I starting it? Why not? If I don't get a single reader, that's fine with me. It's a way to record my experiences as a mom, as a wife, as a woman. Most times, I will write about the whole motherhood thing, but other times, I might write about how I hate that cereal does not have resealable bags (Seriously, cereal companies? It's 2011, get with the times).
So who am I? I'm a 32 year old New Mom. I have a day job working for the government as a lowly secretary, though I am currently on maternity leave until next year. I adore photography, and am sometimes good at it. I am enjoying this whole Mom business and like to think I'm getting better at it. I have not yet gotten poop on my chin, and my daughter smiles like all is right in her world, and that's okay with me. I am not a mom who is going to know how to successfully clean the house, whip up a fancy dinner all while having a baby attached to my boob. That's not me. I am going to get up with my daughter at 5-6am, whenever she feels like waking, feed her from a bottle, and pray she'll go back to sleep (which she usually does, Hallelujah) because I'm not ready to start my day. Sometimes I'm going to decide that we are having hot dogs for supper, and instead of folding the laundry, I'm going to pile it on the pool/ping pong table that has become our laundry table because I want to watch the Golden Girls while baby sleeps. She is most likely have a face with caked on food when she's old enough to eat food, and more likely than not, her clothes will have stains on them because I did not Pre-Treat. But sometimes, she'll be squeaky clean because today I have gotten my shit together. I am going to stay up too late then complain that I am tired the next day, and still go go bed late the next night. I'm going to wear my pjs all day and skip a shower. I'm going to wear my hair in a ponytail, and take my daughter to Walmart and try to carry her in her carrier without looking as awkward as I think I look and pretend I know what I'm doing. I'll be wearing the jeans I wore two days ago that have not yet been washed.
But I will love my daughter like nobody's business. I will do my best to raise her right, and be as good a wife as my husband is as good a husband. I will do my best to make her happy and let her know she is loved. Because that's what's important.
What will I write about? This is my first post, and I have one follower, and that is me. Because I'm weird about showing anyone what I write, I will most likely not even tell my husband or friends that I've started this blog until I decide I'm going to stick with it, and until I think that maybe it's not ridiculous. Why am I starting it? Why not? If I don't get a single reader, that's fine with me. It's a way to record my experiences as a mom, as a wife, as a woman. Most times, I will write about the whole motherhood thing, but other times, I might write about how I hate that cereal does not have resealable bags (Seriously, cereal companies? It's 2011, get with the times).
So who am I? I'm a 32 year old New Mom. I have a day job working for the government as a lowly secretary, though I am currently on maternity leave until next year. I adore photography, and am sometimes good at it. I am enjoying this whole Mom business and like to think I'm getting better at it. I have not yet gotten poop on my chin, and my daughter smiles like all is right in her world, and that's okay with me. I am not a mom who is going to know how to successfully clean the house, whip up a fancy dinner all while having a baby attached to my boob. That's not me. I am going to get up with my daughter at 5-6am, whenever she feels like waking, feed her from a bottle, and pray she'll go back to sleep (which she usually does, Hallelujah) because I'm not ready to start my day. Sometimes I'm going to decide that we are having hot dogs for supper, and instead of folding the laundry, I'm going to pile it on the pool/ping pong table that has become our laundry table because I want to watch the Golden Girls while baby sleeps. She is most likely have a face with caked on food when she's old enough to eat food, and more likely than not, her clothes will have stains on them because I did not Pre-Treat. But sometimes, she'll be squeaky clean because today I have gotten my shit together. I am going to stay up too late then complain that I am tired the next day, and still go go bed late the next night. I'm going to wear my pjs all day and skip a shower. I'm going to wear my hair in a ponytail, and take my daughter to Walmart and try to carry her in her carrier without looking as awkward as I think I look and pretend I know what I'm doing. I'll be wearing the jeans I wore two days ago that have not yet been washed.
But I will love my daughter like nobody's business. I will do my best to raise her right, and be as good a wife as my husband is as good a husband. I will do my best to make her happy and let her know she is loved. Because that's what's important.
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