A lot has been happening. All big changes. New experiences. While my son is hard-wiring for his lifetime here on Earth, I feel like I've transported to life on another planet. I'm wildly exhausted and scurried, yet I feel like I'm getting nothing done all day. I know that raising a baby is the MOST IMPORTANT thing I can do with my time right now. But it can be challenging to constantly remain positive about it when the days are endlessly long and pretty freakin' hard. And when I feel like my brain cells are being depleted and I am morphing into a mere milking, diapering, baby-holding buffoon. I used to have real world skills! I think. My emotions vacillate from over-the-moon-infatuated with my darling baby to... purely depleted and sometimes weepy. Just depends on the hour. And how much sleep I've gotten.
My life lately?
Midnight milk parties, consumed by my little babe's sleepy noises and milk-laced grins. And of course, these are the moments I so desperately want to capture, and CAN'T, because the room is so darn dark. I wish the iPhone made an infrared camera.
I keep finding colic tablets in my sheets. Am I producing them?
Re-swaddling the maverick child who un-swaddled himself, then knocked himself in the face with his puppy-hands, then cried about it. Then woke me up. Then mommy cried too.
Eating the same foods everyday because they are the most surefire way to NOT upset his tummy. 24 hours of a baby wailing because I ate garlic, yogurt or salsa just isn't fun. And it also isn't worth it.
Trying every possible comforting sound, movement, song and dance (yes, I am baby whipped and dancing like a monkey) just to give my under-stimulated, overly-bored and often-times tummy-aching child some distraction and relief. I've run out of all the good ideas. But I'll attempt all the lame ones too.
My daily mantra: "Please God, give me grace and give Everett peace. Let him know I love him so much. And get me to my 8pm glass of wine."
Don't even get me started on how often I get peed upon. I've started to think about it as the anointing of the mother/son relationship.
Now don't get me wrong. There are a ton of gorgeous moments, too.
Like when I pick him up as he's screaming and he immediately softens. Reaches up. And wraps his darling Popeye arms around my neck. And then smiles RIGHT INTO MY EYES. Cue heart melt. Oh wait. I'm crying again.
Like when I put him on his play mat and show him how to reach up and touch the rattling mobile with his hand. AND THEN HE DOES IT BY HIMSELF. I taught him something and HE LEARNED IT. Crying over here.
Like trading in my R&B Pandora stations for Baby Einstein. We jog and sing to the hokey pokey, twinkle twinkle, and thankfully, those songs that Jack Johnson did for some children's movie. Yeah, the other outdoor exercisers in the neighborhood can hear us coming. Straight from old McDonald's farm.
Like when he's just finished nursing, and he looks up at me with those sleepy-happy eyes, milk dribbling down his cheek, and just yawns (and often farts), wriggles around a bit and finally sighs himself into a deep sleep. Knowing that I met all his needs is the BEST feeling.
I think I'm becoming a mom.