Verbal Snapshots of New Motherhood

I come in the door from teaching my late evening class, praying that I don't hear crying coming from upstairs as soon as I enter the house (my non-bottle-taking baby is often super hungry when I get home). I don't hear anything and relief washes over me. I walk upstairs quietly, and when I enter the nursery, I see my husband and the baby lying on the carpeted floor right below the changing table, snuggling and playing. I look at the changing table and see a big pool of poop just sitting on a pair of her pajamas, soaking into the cotton material as they play. 

I, of course, clean it up.

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I'm wearing my baby in the carrier while trying to rush around and clean up the house before the babysitter arrives. I have so much to do and the babe is happy in the carrier and I have to pee really badly, so I sit down on the toilet while wearing her (something I have obviously done many times before), and realize that I've dipped an entire strap of the carrier into the toilet bowl while peeing.

Of course, I clean it off. 

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It's 9pm at night and I finally have a chance to shower after teaching yoga, getting the baby to sleep, and eating a late dinner by myself (while my tired husband--who made dinner and ate earlier while he took care of the baby--sleeps on the couch). I want to eat some dark chocolate but I also want to shower and go to bed ASAP because I'm exhausted and sweaty, so I break off a big piece of chocolate and bring it into the shower with me. 

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I'm sitting on the floor playing with the baby, and while watching her, I'm torn between the following emotions: gratitude that I have a schedule that allows me to sit on the floor with her in the middle of the day, frustration that I'm not getting any work done at the moment and that it's just piling up while I sit there, pure love and joy at watching her play, pure boredom because we're doing the same thing that we do every day and it's pretty basic, happiness because I have such an amazing daughter and love my new life with her SO much, sadness because my old life is gone forever and I'll never have that sort of independence again and I miss it, wonder at this little baby who is mine and looks to me for her every need, overwhelm because this baby looks to me for her every need...it's a lot to process. 

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I'm putting my baby down for a nap for what feels like the millionth time of the day. We've had a hard sleeping day/week/month and she's crazy tired but can't seem to fall asleep. After trying everything I possibly can for over an hour, we start the entire naptime routine over again in the hopes that something will click this time. I'm singing to her and rubbing her head and I think she's finally asleep so am about to start my stealth sneak-out-of-the-room operation and then of course, she starts to cry. I'm so frustrated and frazzled and tired that I start to cry, too--while still singing to her. I feel very sorry for myself as I do this. 

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It's 2pm on a Wednesday afternoon and the baby and I are lying in the middle of our fluffy, king-sized bed facing each other. She grabs my face and takes a fistful of my cheek in her hand and squeals with delight. I shower her little face in kisses and my eyes tear up because I love her so much and her tiny little gummy smile makes my heart melt every single time. I am overcome with emotion and wouldn't trade this moment for the world.

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