Mommy-ness
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So, I'm a mommy.
Yeah, it's kind of weird.
It's like, I had this alien creature in my stomach for nine months. It was something I couldn't really identify with or really picture. And then I birthed it and it was like...a human. It's like...my daughter.
It's really pretty mind boggling if you think about it. And if you don't think about it, it's really a very normal thing that happens hundreds of times every day. Maybe I should stop thinking about it.
Anyway, motherhood.
Motherhood is hard to explain for me at this point. Probably because I've only been experiencing it for three weeks, which is not a very long time to become an expert or even really a well-rehearsed novice at anything.
I would say that my feelings of mommy-ness could be placed into a nutshell at this point: a nutshell named "Worry."
I worry. A lot. It sucks. I try really, really hard not to. I don't freak out when the bink (aka pacifier. I dislike the word pacifier) falls on the floor. I don't wash every piece of clothing before she wears it for the first time. I'll pretty much let anyone hold her or touch her. I've even taken her out shopping and exposed her to germ infested society.
But a cough, or a comment that she still looks a little yellow, or a little bit of spit-up coming out of her nose, or a particularly violent startle, or her being "too still" while she's sleeping, or falling asleep while I was holding her and waking up to see that she slipped out of her original position, or her eye getting a little goopy, or her not wanting to eat for a little longer than usual, or her nails getting a little too long, or wondering if I'm dressing her too warmly, or thinking the cradle mattress might be too soft, or just thinking about the possibility that something might show up on her newborn screening, or even just thinking that she might get a cold or something...
and I just...don't like it.
I mean, this is my baby. It's my baby! Nothing is allowed to happen to her - ever! You hear that, universe?
I am seriously trying to not become a total basket case by worrying about my daughter too much. But wow, it's hard.
Thankfully, this worry has tapered off since the first week or so. I can pretty much go about my daily business without being constantlysure paranoid worried that Madelyn is surely going to suffer some kind of terrible suffering.
But I still can't exactly sleep in the same room as her. She stirs, I stir.
I just love her, you know? This is my daughter. Of course I don't want anything to happen to her. I want her to be happy and healthy and smart and beautiful and I don't want anything in the world to even think about getting in her way.
I know that things are going to happen. She might even (gasp!) get a cold someday. And I'm going to have to deal with it.
And maybe then, after a few years or so of colds, I'll be a little more qualified to write about Mommy-ness.
You know...maybe.
On a fairly to moderately more awesome note, here are some of our Madelyn's adorable personality traits that we've noticed in her first twenty-five days of life:
-She loves to be held, and will refuse to sleep anywhere but someone's arms unless she's out like bell bottoms.
-She loves to hold hands. Sometimes holding her hand(s) calms her down like nothing else.
-She likes to have her hands up by her face. Short nails are completely necessary. She won't wear baby mittens.
-She does not like baths.
-She likes being rocked and read to, and while you might think Dickens' A Christmas Carol is a bit advanced for someone at her level, I can assure you, she loves it.
-She has a very strong neck/head. When I'm sitting up and holding her with her head on my chest, she'll lift her head up and stare at me in the face for a good amount of time.
-When she's awake, she's very alert. Just taking in the world around her, I guess!
And on the most awesome note of all, here is a recent picture of our little princess (not that all pictures of her aren't recent...I mean, she's 3 1/2 weeks old...):
Ok so it's not the most flattering angle, I know. But the fact that she's still the cutest baby in the land, even at the unflattering angle, has got to say something.
Oh yeah, I'm a mom.
Yeah, it's kind of weird.
It's like, I had this alien creature in my stomach for nine months. It was something I couldn't really identify with or really picture. And then I birthed it and it was like...a human. It's like...my daughter.
It's really pretty mind boggling if you think about it. And if you don't think about it, it's really a very normal thing that happens hundreds of times every day. Maybe I should stop thinking about it.
Anyway, motherhood.
Motherhood is hard to explain for me at this point. Probably because I've only been experiencing it for three weeks, which is not a very long time to become an expert or even really a well-rehearsed novice at anything.
I would say that my feelings of mommy-ness could be placed into a nutshell at this point: a nutshell named "Worry."
I worry. A lot. It sucks. I try really, really hard not to. I don't freak out when the bink (aka pacifier. I dislike the word pacifier) falls on the floor. I don't wash every piece of clothing before she wears it for the first time. I'll pretty much let anyone hold her or touch her. I've even taken her out shopping and exposed her to germ infested society.
But a cough, or a comment that she still looks a little yellow, or a little bit of spit-up coming out of her nose, or a particularly violent startle, or her being "too still" while she's sleeping, or falling asleep while I was holding her and waking up to see that she slipped out of her original position, or her eye getting a little goopy, or her not wanting to eat for a little longer than usual, or her nails getting a little too long, or wondering if I'm dressing her too warmly, or thinking the cradle mattress might be too soft, or just thinking about the possibility that something might show up on her newborn screening, or even just thinking that she might get a cold or something...
and I just...don't like it.
I mean, this is my baby. It's my baby! Nothing is allowed to happen to her - ever! You hear that, universe?
I am seriously trying to not become a total basket case by worrying about my daughter too much. But wow, it's hard.
Thankfully, this worry has tapered off since the first week or so. I can pretty much go about my daily business without being constantly
But I still can't exactly sleep in the same room as her. She stirs, I stir.
I just love her, you know? This is my daughter. Of course I don't want anything to happen to her. I want her to be happy and healthy and smart and beautiful and I don't want anything in the world to even think about getting in her way.
I know that things are going to happen. She might even (gasp!) get a cold someday. And I'm going to have to deal with it.
And maybe then, after a few years or so of colds, I'll be a little more qualified to write about Mommy-ness.
You know...maybe.
On a fairly to moderately more awesome note, here are some of our Madelyn's adorable personality traits that we've noticed in her first twenty-five days of life:
-She loves to be held, and will refuse to sleep anywhere but someone's arms unless she's out like bell bottoms.
-She loves to hold hands. Sometimes holding her hand(s) calms her down like nothing else.
-She likes to have her hands up by her face. Short nails are completely necessary. She won't wear baby mittens.
-She does not like baths.
-She likes being rocked and read to, and while you might think Dickens' A Christmas Carol is a bit advanced for someone at her level, I can assure you, she loves it.
-She has a very strong neck/head. When I'm sitting up and holding her with her head on my chest, she'll lift her head up and stare at me in the face for a good amount of time.
-When she's awake, she's very alert. Just taking in the world around her, I guess!
And on the most awesome note of all, here is a recent picture of our little princess (not that all pictures of her aren't recent...I mean, she's 3 1/2 weeks old...):
Ok so it's not the most flattering angle, I know. But the fact that she's still the cutest baby in the land, even at the unflattering angle, has got to say something.
Oh yeah, I'm a mom.
