on being a mom

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Today I lay on the floor in the nursery and just stared at my baby.  He lay on his blanket chattering away in that sing song baby voice of his and I started thinking.

I've been doing this mom gig for four months now and, while that's not long, it's long enough to have some thoughts.

I've gotten up in the wee hours of the monring because baby decided he was awake and if baby's awake, we're all awake.
Except Dave.
So just I'm awake.

I've been pooped on, peed on, and spit up on and still deemed the outfit I was wearing to be socially acceptable.

I've sat in my rocking chair with a warm sleeping baby in my arms and wanted to cry because that seemed like the only way the happiness inside me could possibly escape.

I've watched this little guy go from being an infant to being a baby and sort of mourned the transition.

I've done almost anything to get that little boy to laugh.  That laugh is the best.

For four months I've fed, clothed, carried and cuddled this little boy and it is a job.

At first it was hard to be so needed.  So very, very needed.  It was overwhelming and almost suffocating.

Honestly, the fact that he took a bottle at 1 month was the best thing in the whole world for my sanity.  It meant a few more hours of shuteye and being able to leave him with his daddy so I could do something - anything - without a car seat and diaper bag in tow.

And now we're in a rhythm.  A rhythm that's hard to imagine didn't exist four month ago.

My life revolves around diapers, naps, and the sleep schedule of a tiny human being.

And, despite the multiple loads of laundry, the late nights/early mornings, and a crick in my back that needs some TLC pronto, it is good.

Life is so, so good.

Having a baby isn't really much like I thought it would be, but it's what it ought to be.  And I am grateful for it.