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What Just Happened?
Thursday, 23 June 2005

It’s official.  We have a baby!

A copy of Madeleine’s birth announcement came in the mail.  Seeing her name in print made everything seem so, I don’t know, unchangeable.  As if we’d only borrowed a baby for a while to play at the parenting thing, but now that we’ve announced it to the world, we’re in this for the long haul, no exchanges, no refunds.  Not that I want to exchange her; but I imagine that now that we’ve announced it, I’ve gone from some hip chick with a baby to a mommy.  Does that make any sense?  A sort of reference point shift for my identity.  I’ve been looking at this whole thing as if she’s my daughter, and now suddenly I’m her mother.


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A Soggy Shoulder
Monday, 20 June 2005

Hormones suck.

I’m walking around crying all the time.  I cry over how big my belly still is.  (Yes, I know it’s only been one week).  I cry over what a bad mother I’ll be.  I cry over my daughter’s blatant indifference to my charms.  Honestly, she doesn’t give a Memphis morning about who’s changing her diaper or feeding her, and shows absolutely no gratitude towards me.  There’s not even a smile in it for me yet.  I think about a girlfriend of mine who struggles with chronic depression and cry out of empathy for her; I can’t imagine spending much of your life feeling this way.  I think about my girlfriend who’s pregnant with her second child and cry that she’ll have to go through this while rearing a toddler.  And now, I’m crying because I have the dearest girlfriends in the world.
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Pass the Frozen Peas
Saturday, 18 June 2005

Let’s talk for a sec about what I’d like to call the big breastfeeding lie:  “Breastfeeding shouldn’t hurt!”  I’m not afraid to admit it; I’m ten days into this thing and my nipples are killing me!!!!  And before you all start typing your replies, sending me advice about having an expert observe me and it’s probably Madeleine’s latching, let me just tell you that I’ve been observed by the hospital staff, my OB, Madeleine’s pediatrician, a consultant, and a fellow mother, all of whom tell me Madeleine’s a pro at this and we’re doing everything right.  But I’ve got blood blisters on each side, and it hurts almost unbearably each time she latches on and starts to eat.


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Who's the Mommy?
Monday, 13 June 2005

picture_074.jpgHome yesterday from the hospital with Madeleine Lucy.  I learned the hard way that when my doctor said, “Don’t lift anything bigger than your baby," the car seat didn’t count as “baby."  I almost died picking her up out of the car.  My mom had the house spotless, clean sink in the kitchen and fresh linens on our beds awaiting our return; those little touches only your mom thinks of that make such a difference.  I can’t believe our little family has grown from two to three.  I’m supposed to be the mommy now; the one with all the answers.  I have no idea what I’m doing.  How long do you think it will take everyone to figure that out?  I look at her squirming obliviously on the changing table; am I supposed to talk to her?  Sing to her?  Tell jokes?  Politely ignore her nakedness?  I thought maybe the mommy instinct would just magically come in, like my milk supply.  Maybe it's on its way.


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T Minus One and Counting
Thursday, 09 June 2005

Ok, I think I’m as ready for this thing as I can be.  All the weeks of exercising and eating right and drinking a ton of water a day and sleeping on my side and passing up the Nyquil about_to_be_parents.jpg(how I miss it!) have all been leading up to tomorrow.  I’ve had my Mommy Focus Group –my girlfriends from church with babies of their own – busy answering all my insane questions, like, “What’s your favorite diaper bag and why?” or “Why do babies have to wear hats inside?”  They laugh, but they’ve been incredibly patient and encouraged me the whole way, sharing maternity clothes and stories and mommy tips.  The whole baby consumer world is incredibly overwhelming, with endless possibilities, and I never would have made it through the baby registry without them.  I’ve got them on a group email list, and I’m certain they’ll be hearing from me with a frantic middle-of-the-night email within days of bringing our daughter home. 

Who am I kidding?  I'm not ready.

Wish me luck.


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