In the Doldrums (Seven Months)

5/2/19

This month has been hard for me. Some days I feel like I’ll never find balance again. The first few months of a new baby, it’s easier to have patience and think, “This is new” or “This is just for now.” But now that we’re in to the second half of your first year I’m feeling impatient. I’m feeling like I should have this figured out by now and I should have a routine. But I don’t. Every day feels like survival mode, and I feel I’ll never have balance again of having time for sleep or exercise or drawing or writing or anything ever again. It sounds dramatic, but if you ever have your own babies you’ll know what I mean. Even using the bathroom by myself these days feels like a luxury, and most days it feels like my circumstances will never, ever change. 

On Joy and Sorrow (Six Months)

4/2/19

Gwendolyn,

In the span of one week this month we had the opportunity to watch two friends expand their families. One here in mortality, and the other, heartbreakingly, for the eternities. Being present at an adoption finalization and at an infant’s funeral in the same week lent me so much perspective.

Dichotomy (Five Months)

3/2/19

Gwen,

Sometimes I think the hardest part about having a new baby is wrestling with the constant emotional dichotomy. It’s painful trying to survive while also slowing down enough to enjoy each moment. Sometimes I am gritting my teeth in exhaustion, physical fatigue and emotional burnout, and just trying to get through the moment until I can practice even the most basic self-care. And then the next moment, I’m lying next to my sleeping baby in bed, wondering if it would be possible to admire and cherish her enough.

Babies and Fairies (Four Months)

2/2/19

Gwendolyn,

You giggled for the first time this last month. We know the date, in fact: January 6, 2019, will forever be the day you learned to laugh. Your dad was the one lucky enough to elicit it. 

I realize my Peter Pan obsession is still alive and well because I couldn’t help but think a fairy was born on that day of your first laugh. As the book says:

Always (Three Months)

1/2/19

Gwendolyn,

You still feel like a dream. Like the sweetest imagining I’ve ever had. Too sweet and too good to even fathom being reality. But here you are. And your smiles melt me, and your tears break me. At this point in your little life, I can hardly identify when our two identities start and stop. We merge in to each other. A fluid round of touch and nursing. And I freely admit you give me as much comfort as I give you. I am grateful for the reprieve of cuddling, of nursing, of talking, of smiling...it keeps my heart calm.