The Little Pack

I promise to love you and keep you safe and shepherd you through this crazy life as best as I know how until it is time for you to spread your wings and fly. I promise to do my best to keep your unbelievably spirited nature intact as I teach you to be a polite, productive citizen. And I promise to never talk about you in front of you as though you aren’t there. Although I know I will fail at times, I promise that I will always give you my very best.

We are in such a rush for our babies to grow up and be independent.. I don’t understand it. There is such pressure in this society to get back to your “normal” pre-kid life at an alarming pace as if having a baby was nothing more than a slight inconvenience. We celebrate moms that fit back into their jeans 3weeks later, take up running or yoga again mere days later and return to their pre-child routine as soon as possible. We encourage moms to put their babies in their own cribs in their own rooms and to begin solids from the get-go. We encourage moms not to hold their babies ”too much” or help them get to sleep because they need to do it themselves. We make moms feel guilty for wanting to nuture their children by extended breastfeeding or *gasp* comforting their child in the night. I for one am calling bullshit. Having a baby rocked my world, in the best way possible.

Why are we so afraid of change? There is no way to go through this experience unchanged. Having Baby Boy has changed my perspective on, well, everything. Being a mother has made me repriotize what is in important to me, and question well, everything, including beliefs that have been part of my identity forever. It has challenged parenting styles I thought I subscribed to, made me question my behavior before having him and even changed the way I feel about some people, both for better and worse. And you know what, that is OK. It is good to analyze yourself once in awhile. I am not the easy-going, easy to laugh person I was before. And I’m OK with that even if you aren’t. I’ll admit it. My sense of humor has taken a vacation. I now have an obsessive need to plan everything, and I get anxious when things get off track. I am easily stressed, and no longer can I keep a tight leash on my emotions. But in it’s place, is the deepest sense of joy and calm I have ever felt. And on a physical level, my body, is nowhere near here it was before. I am nowhere near running again or doing yoga more than occasionally. I miss those things terribly. I miss taking my dogs for long, long walks. I miss my size 4 body. But I wouldn’t give up any of this for those things because someday all too soon, I’ll have them back and he’ll have grown. For now, I’ll let my baby be a baby and just soak up every minute. For there is no way to go through an experience like this and come out the other side as the same person. And, I for one, am not going to try to pretend that person on the other side is exactly the same.

Before I was a mom, I never knew that going an average of 3 days between showers would seem reasonable. For that matter, I never knew that I would view the most basic of personal hygiene tasks, like showering or flossing or god forbid even visiting the restroom as victories instead of simple tasks. I didn’t know that a ponytail and pair of oversized sunglasses perched on top of my head even in pouring down rain would become my best friends. And that I would trick myself into believing a necklace could make my hair look better on the days when the last shower I took was closer to 4 days ago. Which, seriously? That doesn’t even make logical sense. Do I really think these things are drawing attention away from the oil slick on my head, the bags under my eyes or the dried spit up all over my clothes? › Continue reading

The Little One arrived in July. We had chosen to be surprised about the sex of the baby. After 18 hours of labor and falling asleep between pushes, I finally heard my husband exclaim with awe and wonder in his voice, “Oh my God, its a baby.” Ok, well, I knew that part. And then, finally, “It’s a boy.” After what seemed like an eternity of silence, my little boy started screaming. And screaming. First relief. They put him on my chest and I was crying and laughing with tears of absolute joy. And he still screamed. And then panic set in when I realized I had no idea how to make him stop. And then I started talking to him. I told him that we had waited for him for so long and were so happy to finally meet him. I told him we loved him and that it was all right. And somehow in the midst of all this, he heard my voice and looked into my eyes and I swear it was like he recognized me. It was a moment of oh there you are and as though he felt relief, that he knew he was safe and home. He grabbed onto my finger and it was the single greatest moment of my life. For the first several weeks I was so intoxicated with him. I just wanted to touch him and smell him and hold him. And now he smiles. And my heart stops every time. Every single time. It is the best thing I have ever felt. And so with that, I have become that person whose whole life is her baby with nothing else to talk about. So cliche, and there is a reason why it’s cliche. Because nothing else matters.