I didn’t know what had happened in Las Vegas. Maybe I could leave it alone. Maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen it. Maybe I could find out what happened later, after the coffee kicks in. At least after the sun is up.
Monday October 2nd. It was an early morning here. We’d all been sick for almost a week and we were finally starting to feel more alive. So surely sleeping past six was too much to ask. We were testing our freshly healed stomachs with black coffee, laughing at Wyatt as he played with his baby doll Carter. “Aw, are you showing him outside?” Papa asked. No, we realized, as Wyatt carefully wedged each of Carter’s little plastic feet under the edge of the mini blinds and left him there to hang upside down. We laughed and laughed.
Of course I had to take a picture. Of course I had to instagram it. “Are you posting that right now?” Evan asked. Of course I was. Because it was hilarious, and I’m addicted.
Within seconds of clicking that irresistable Instagram icon, I saw it: the words “Pray for Las Vegas” on an attractive graphic. It caught my eye immediately, but didn’t register at first. There’s been such a constant flow of tragedies and disasters recently it can be hard to keep up. Another account I follow had posted something similar, and I quickly realized this was a new one. I didn’t know what had happened in Las Vegas.
Maybe I could leave it alone. Maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen it. Maybe I could find out what happened later, after the coffee kicks in. At least after the sun is up.
It’s been a while, but I’m back with a few moreessential mom skills, this time for the 9-12 month set. What’s that you say? My baby is fifteen months old? That sounds fake, but okay. I started this post months ago. Let’s just take a moment to consider that if this little blog is running 3-6 months behind schedule, what might that suggest about the rest of my life?
Anyway, I woke up today to a fully mobile toddler slamming a bell next to my head repeatedly. I don’t know what time it was, but it was definitely still dark. Let’s just dive in.
We made the appointment for the next day — “if you’re still pregnant.” If I’m still pregnant? The idea that there was a point in the future when I would no longer be pregnant felt pretty far fetched. At that point it felt like I was going to be pregnant forever!
Today my tiny baby is one year old. It seems like a good time to write his birth story. A midwife friend recently shared with me her birthday tradition of telling her son his birth story each year. It made me think of Lorelai telling Rory her birth story: “…to me it was more akin to doing the splits on a crate of dynamite.” In true Lorelai style, she pelts the nurses with ice chips and names the baby after herself. The rest is history…
This is a hard post to write. At risk of losing my crunchy mom cred, I’m here to say I just had the best night of sleep I’ve had in months. I feel just a little more alive than I’ve become accustomed to. My eyes opened easily after only one cup of coffee, instead of the usual two or three. I woke up feeling rested and ready to start the day, not ready to curl up in a ball and die hibernate. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of my baby’s cry — from his crib, where he’d slept since his 11 pm feeding. Cue the HallelujahChorus.
Two or three days after your baby is born, you’re going to wake up in a puddle of milk, with rock hard, uncomfortably swollen, surprisingly massive boobs. The good news is, you’re about to experience the sheer beauty of a milk drunk newborn…
If you’re female and use the internet, you’ve probably read some of Chrissy Teigen’s hilarious tweets about pregnancy and motherhood, viewed her extra adorable photos, marveled at her postpartum figure (hey! stop comparing yourself to supermodels. just an idea.), and seethed at the backlash to her daring to go out to lunch or for a walk or whatever. Come on. Let a woman live.
She gave birth about a month after I did. I laughed knowingly to myself when she wrote “no one told me i would be coming home in diapers too.” And then I literally almost cried when she followed it with her “push present” to herself, a perineal rinse bottle. Maybe I was just feeling a little emotional, but seriously. Her doctors and friendstruly failed her if they didn’t let her know about the peri bottle.
I’m here to be the friend that Chrissy should’ve had. I am not afraid to tell you the gross and uncomfortable stuff. If you would rather not know, stop reading now! Bellies, blood, vaginas, pee, and boobs ahead…
Welcome, Stay At Home Moms! Thanks for joining me today. Now that we have advanced from your basic how-to, we’re ready to advance to the next level of Stay At Home Momness. Here are a few of my favorite naptime activities, specially selected for those delightful naps lasting fewer than thirty minutes:
I have literally never loved my dog so much as when I see her come running to lick up baby barf that has puddled on the floor. And my arm. And the baby’s arm, and his shirt, and his face. He likes it, I swear.
Well folks, we made it through the first four months. It hasn’t been too bad! It’s actually been pretty great. I always feel like I’m tempting fate when I talk about how well things are going, how easy going my baby is, how well he sleeps used to sleep, and how generally manageable this whole baby/motherhood thing has been so far. But we’ve had our challenges, and I’ve definitely learned a few things since my last collection of Essential Mom Skills.