That’s how long it takes to sit down and write an actual for-realsies post.
Because, like my sweet, sleeping daughter (above), I’m too tired to give a good goddamn. #imwithher?
Even as I write this, the charming cries of the little
booger baby girl are calling for me across the room, as she rocks away in her automatic (thankfully) sleeper.
Seriously, though. Who has time for this blogging nonsense?! I think about it often. All the clever anecdotes I’d share…heartwarming stories about poop on my face and swaddling meltdowns…
It is now tomorrow. Which is the day before baby A turns 2 months. I guess that leads me to the “some shit.”
This motherhood gig is HARD. Whatever Pinterest-perfect ideals of scheduled days with your newborn/toddler/child (complete with me-time for mom, too!) and breastfeeding tips and must-do developmental exercises…Yeah. I’m usually pretty happy if I make it through the day and have the chance to put real clothes on or do something with my perma-new mom ponytail (pictured below).
Full Disclosure: I’m in my underwear. Oh, and I’m wearing a screaming baby on my chest.
1.5 hours later…
I walked around the house lightly bouncing the human child whilst making monotone moaning sounds similar to that of a meditating monk. Or whatever. Not sure if that analogy is even right. Nor do I particularly care.
I put her on the boob. BTW: Boobs are so much more amazing than I realized. I mean…I can squirt goddamned milk out of my nipple! Into the air! It’s got me all like…
Seriously. It’s a superpower.
(apologies to those who are unable to breastfeed – this is not bragging – man, breastfeeding is a challenge in and of itself! More on that another day…)
She falls asleep on the boob. Move her to bassinet. Immediately realizes she’s been moved. Back to the boob. Falls asleep again. Successful transfer to be bassinet. Approximately 15 minutes pass before she awakens again. Massive shit. Change diaper. Realize it’s been a few hours since I’ve eaten (BTW 2: Breastfeeding makes you ravenous all the damned time). Get leftover chips and salsa while baby screams. Contemplate mid-afternoon cocktail…
I know we’ll develop our own schedule…sometime. Until then, I do what makes Baby A happy and squeeze in my own meals/bathing/pooping/cleaning/mental health as I can.
BTW 3: Totally worth it.