My Collin is six weeks old. It’s hard to imagine he won’t always be this small and babylike. I won’t always be changing his diapers, getting up to nurse him five times every night, and Husband and I won’t always be passing him back and forth like a hot potato every time we sit down to eat dinner. But, alas, he is indeed growing at some kind of crazy warp speed that makes me both excited for the future, and terrified of losing his delicious babyhood. Sometimes, I just want to cling to it, grab at every moment and memory and stuff them all in my pockets so I can pull them out and re-live them over and over again. The way he smiles at me when we wake up in the morning. The way he falls asleep on my shoulder after a long nurse. The way his little baby hiccups make me want to call everyone I know to share them, because surely they must make everyone want to melt as much as they do me.
However, in the same breath, I am also the woman who practically throws the baby at her husband when he walks in the door after work, and Collin will spend so much time swinging in his swing some days, I’m afraid he’ll start calling it mama and trying to nurse off it.
Today was the most productive post-pardom day I’ve had yet. I bathed the baby, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the living room, folded and put away a load of laundry, took the baby for a walk and helped him get some tummy time, and made a healthy dinner. All of this being done intermittently through feeding, burping, changing, and rocking, or by having the baby strapped to me with the Moby wrap. They say mothers are good multi-taskers... now I know why. It’s funny, the things they do and do not warn you about post-pardom. They do warn you about the sleep deprivation and after-delivery soreness. They don’t warn you about how the foot swelling and the hemorrhoids get ten times WORSE after the baby before slowly deciding to get better. They also forget to mention how your mind can sort of liquefy after a whole day of baby talk and how your wedding ring may never fit you again. Or how there are a ton of support groups in Santa Cruz for new mothers, but in order to get to any of them, you need to be a functional person before ten in the morning; so basically by the time you’re sleeping enough through the night to enjoy them, your baby will be off to college.
Even if they had warned me, I wouldn’t have listened, or cared. Even as I live all the things I was never warned about, it’s hard to care when all I want to do is gaze at this little creature that is my baby.