Ten months have passed since this little princess arrived. Ten LONG months. Wonderful in many aspects, but definitely long. I have to say, time does not fly when I'm postpartum. Like a wet slug, each day drags along a foggy trail of seconds, minutes and hours. Slow and exhausting.
As any mom will attest, the months after birth can be a blur and easy to forget. One day you look at your toddler and think, Wow two year olds are so hard. Remember when she was just a little newborn, so new, so portable, so easy? Funny how that happens. Mother Nature is a big trickster, changing our memories like that.
So let me capture a little postpartum moment in time: Edith is 3 months old. I'm in the rocking chair, blinking my eyes, staring at the clock—eyelids drooping with a heavy coat of fatigue and anxiety—and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out if it's 11pm or 11am. For several minutes I honestly do not know. I lower my gaze to watch her nurse, questioning if she is getting enough milk. I close my eyes. I open them again. It's 12:30. Desperate to pee, I attempt to break her loose, but for fear of losing a nipple I keep her on the boob.
I proceed to the bathroom with the little one attached to my chest like a large tick. Impressed with myself after successfully wiping one-handed, I notice she has a really good latch. So I stay seated.
Moments later (still on the toilet), I begin to fantasize about sleep in a way that nears sexual fantasy, and realize that everything—absolutely everything—would be better, if I could get some. If sleep can't happen, then I'll settle for a shower. The idea of a hot shower brings tears to my eyes. I decide to make sure I shower as soon as she's asleep. Or at the very least brush my teeth and put on clean underwear.
Finally she's off my (very sore) nipple. I stand up and catch a glance of myself in the mirror I had been avoiding for days. Alas there I am—and it's worse than I thought. Much worse. Irreversible damage has been done. Who IS that woman in the mirror wearing my clothes? Too depressed to investigate, I place Edith down in her crib, and decide to use my spare time to put in a load of laundry, for which I reward myself with a bag of chips (because after all, I'm nursing and can eat whatever I want right?).
After more chips (and chocolate), I begin to make a list of things I must do immediately to change the way I look and feel: make hair and nail appointments, hit the gym, get a sitter for date night, get dressed up and do pretty girl things like wear make-up every day. Oh yeah it's all going to happen I say out loud, perkily. I'm going to be THAT MOM. The one who totally has it all together, looking gorgeous with a perfect newborn girl and two wonderful boys in tow...
But, before I can even pick up my phone the baby wakes up.
And I didn't even brush my teeth. Good times.
Edith is ten months old this weekend and the fog has lifted (well, almost). It took a while this time around, but just like my other two sweeties, she is showing me how big my heart can be, and why it's all worth it. And anyways, just look at her.