This is What a Month Looks Like (Now That We're Parents)
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I have a yellow composition book titled "My Unhappy Book" that catalogues our household bills from month to month. Once upon a time, a month used to be marked by another awful rent check, a slow countdown to the end of car payments, a varying utilities bill, glorious pay days. A month was long days at work and and new tv shows, national holidays and birthdays, another bag of dog food, tank of gas, haircut. Now that we're parents all those days have been a part of our first month and yet time has been marked by completely different milestones.
And somehow in a month, there has been so much waiting: for her first good poop, for her to gain weight, for the jaundice to go away, for more alert time, for the dog to adjust to being just a dog for once, for her to gain more weight, for my milk to come in, for my milk supply to increase. It's amazing how happiness is suddenly measured in ounces.
Mostly, this month has been marked by the slow but inevitable capsizing of the iceberg. All we thought was significant and grand is underwater and paled in comparison to substance of mass now revealed to us: Holy crap, we have a baby.
For me, it took about a month to really bond with my baby, to fall in love with her, to hear her name spoken and it feel normal, to say "my daughter" without feeling like a fraud, to actually call myself "mom" and really mean it. I still don't feel like someone's mom. I feel like a kid who has been suddenly thrust into an epic journey without being given time to pack or study or train and somewhere along the line I realized everything I need, I already have with me or will be provided for me and, most importantly, I am not the hero of this story anymore.
And that is fine by me.
Also, why in the world do newborns poop so loud?
It's hard to believe a month has even passed. There are no longer nights and days but cycles that keep tumbling along endlessly until I have a sudden burst of clarity and try to quantify the time passed by all those daily chores missing from my memory: When did I brush my teeth last? Take a shower? Made my bed, changed out of my pajamas, eaten a balanced meal?
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| Let sleeping babies (and husbands) lie |
Miraculously, we have managed to do most of those things on a semi-regular basis but otherwise, details of these past weeks are kind of a blur. Emphasis has been placed elsewhere I guess.
This is what a month looks like:
- 350 diapers
- 24 cups of coffee brewed, forgotten, and turned cold.
- 7 consultations with lactation nurses
- 500 tears spilt learning how to breastfeed
- 12 hours spent on Google, BabyCenter, WebMD.
- 750 photos taken (seriously)
- 2 calls to the advice nurse
- 1 trip to Golden Gate
- 16 loads of laundry
- 16 loads of laundry
- 500 tears spilt just feeling guilty for getting mad at a helpless baby
- 5,000 ounces of water drunk
- 3 meals actually home cooked ourselves (luckily we had a band of happy cooks for a few weeks)
- 11 seasons of Frasier re-watched during feedings
- 500 tears spilt dealing with infant reflux (or was it reflux?)
- 10,000 prayers uttered, all along the lines of thanks, help, wow à la Anne Lamott. 
And somehow in a month, there has been so much waiting: for her first good poop, for her to gain weight, for the jaundice to go away, for more alert time, for the dog to adjust to being just a dog for once, for her to gain more weight, for my milk to come in, for my milk supply to increase. It's amazing how happiness is suddenly measured in ounces. Mostly, this month has been marked by the slow but inevitable capsizing of the iceberg. All we thought was significant and grand is underwater and paled in comparison to substance of mass now revealed to us: Holy crap, we have a baby.
For me, it took about a month to really bond with my baby, to fall in love with her, to hear her name spoken and it feel normal, to say "my daughter" without feeling like a fraud, to actually call myself "mom" and really mean it. I still don't feel like someone's mom. I feel like a kid who has been suddenly thrust into an epic journey without being given time to pack or study or train and somewhere along the line I realized everything I need, I already have with me or will be provided for me and, most importantly, I am not the hero of this story anymore.
And that is fine by me.
Also, why in the world do newborns poop so loud?
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