The worst thing about being sick when you are a mom...nothing changes. Diapers still need to be changed, dust still gathers, laundry piles up, dinner needs making, dishes need washing. Dear moms from eras gone by, current and future, I THINK YOU ARE AMAZING. The way you manage to hold things together in between sneezes. The way you still take care of your families when you need some TLC yourselves.
"Hey Nate, my throat hurts"
Now for the love part of this post. I love my baby girl. I love her crazy little hairline that can't make up its mind. I love her deep blue eyes that already have a story to tell. I love how she mimics Nate when he talks to her. I love her little nose and how she wrinkles it up just for fun all the time. I love her spongy little cheeks and how they feel when I kiss them. I love her forever pink plump lips spreading wide when she smiles. I love her fingers and how she is so amazed by them at the moment. I love the little bald spot on the back of her head. I love those eyebrows people! I love how she gets all grabby with her feet, how she is a baby tsunami in the bathtub, and how she spit up directly into my mouth today. There is just so much to love.
"Nate, my body hurts. So. Much."
There are two main comments I heard when pregnant.
1. You and Nate better enjoy the afternoon naps and spontaneity now because your lives are about to change. ("duh")
2. They grow up so fast. Enjoy it while you can.
Both cautionary tales scared me. Kinda. The first one was more irritating than anything else. First of all, I'm 39, I think I'm hip to the idea that having a baby will change my life. Also, I found it pretty interesting that the same people that were warning me about how my life was about to get so much harder were the same people that kept saying "you need to have a baby, it's the best". Sidebar: our lives have changed, for sure. All for the better. All for the better.
"Nate, my chest feels so heavy."
The second statement echoed in my head over and over like Berlioz playing at the end of Sleeping with the Enemy. Scary. Like, I knew things were going to end badly. As in, me 70 years old, listening to Cat's in the Cradle and smelling one of Clementine's old baby blankets while I lay in a ball up in her old treehouse. How do you make sure to enjoy every minute? This warning has turned me into a basket case. I'm doing my best though. I smell her head and kiss her and nibble on her toes and hug her little body when she sleeps on my shoulder. I tell her I love her and smile at her and cheer her on when she does something groundbreaking like sit up or eat. Sidenote: I'm learning how to enjoy every minute while brushing my teeth and folding laundry because multitasking is in my blood.
"Nate, can you make me some tea?"
Finally, one of my favorite photos. Just 3-weeks old and weighing little more than a butternut squash.
|Her hands are the size of walnuts.|