A Year

One year ago today, I gave birth. Well, a baby was taken out of me, anyway. After many hours of Pitocin-induced labor, I was given a C-section. The nurses all said that the baby may not cry right away. I think they said this so that I wouldn't panic if I didn't hear the movie-type baby cries that most new moms expect when the baby enters the world, but up until then, I hadn't thought about her crying or not crying right away. In any case, the doctor said, "You will feel some tugging," and the baby was lifted out of me. It felt as though they were pulling out half of my weight, and I was amazed that, even under the affects of the epidural, I felt light and empty. She screamed right away, and I cried. The picture Chris took of her at this moment is epic: her balled fists, her red face, her rage at being removed from her comfortable home.

Immediately, everyone began to focus on the baby. They cooed about how beautiful she was, how big she was, how much hair she had. I lay behind the sheet, feeling as though my body and my baby were on the other side of a football field. I tried to ask questions, but no one could hear me. After what felt like an eternity, Chris walked over to me with her in his arms, looking dazed and happy. I think he said something like, "Here she is." It was unnecessary. I would have recognized her anywhere. She was mine, and I already knew her.

But she did look too big and too clean, and she was so chubby and so beautiful that, for a split second, I wondered how she could be real. I cried and looked at her, shaking from the effects of the epidural and straining my neck to turn as much as I could to look at her. I tried to touch her. I kissed her cheek. I wanted to stare. My doctor, the one who had cared from me from the very beginning, was standing beside me. I looked at her and she nodded at me, smiling. I nodded back, still crying.

Then Chris took her to the nursery so they could stitch me up. Immediately, I felt exhausted. The anesthetist had given me something for anxiety (even though I was not anxious) and I felt sleepy. I drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes. I remember hearing strained voices, and hearing something about blood loss, but I couldn't stay awake. The next time I woke up, I was still on the table, staring up at the bright light. The anesthetist was still over me. I couldn't say anything, but I tried to catch his eye. He noticed me and smoothed my hair out of my eyes. "It's OK," he said. "Just a little bit longer. It's OK." I nodded and fell back asleep.

Then, suddenly, the surgeon was at my side. "You are losing too much blood," she said firmly. "We need to do something to stop it. I would like to remove your right ovary because it may stop the bleeding. Is that OK with you?" My mind reeled. I thought a million questions but couldn't say anything. "Mmm-hmmm," I agreed. She peered at me. "Do I need to talk to your husband about it?" I shook my head a little. "Uh-uh."

I fell back asleep. In my half-sleep, I was confused. Had I had the baby already? I thought I had, but I couldn't remember. The room was too bright and too loud, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I awoke to the sound of the surgical team counting their instruments. I fell asleep again. When I woke up, I was in a recovery room. Chris and a nurse came in a few minutes later with my baby, and I could finally, finally, finally hold and feed her. She was the most amazing, soft, beautiful, sweet, vulnerable, perfect thing I had ever seen. The surgeon came in a little while later and explained in basic terms what had happened to me. She sounded sorry. 

I looked at my baby, then looked up at her and said, "It's OK. She's OK. Shit happens." 

The surgeon looked slightly taken aback, then softened. "Well," she said, "I'm sorry it happened to you today."

This morning, a year later, my baby woke up. I went in, cuddled and rocked her, and smelled her sweet hair. She wrapped a warm hand around mine as she ate with little snuffling noises. She fell back asleep, warm and soft in her little footie jammies, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. 

Today is better.

Happy birthday, baby Sophie. I would do it all over again a hundred times for just one day with you.

xoxo

An Awkward Conversation

Republican Legislators: Hey, Minnesota. What's new?
Minnesota: Oh, you know. Just plugging along. What's new with you?
RL: Actually, a lot. We've got some ideas for you.
MN: Oh, yeah? Like what?
RL: We were thinking, what if we added an amendment to our constitution that says marriage can only be between a man and a woman?
MN: Um...isn't that kind of discriminatory? And permanent?
RL: I mean, only if you like the gays...you don't, do you?
MN: Uh...yeah, kind of. I mean, they're just like everyone else. Why shouldn't they get married?
RL: It's already illegal, if that helps you.
MN: Uh...then why are we putting this in our constitution?
RL: To make it even MORE illegal.
MN: Um, no, I don't think we'll do that.
RL: Are you sure?
MN: Yes.
RL: How sure?
MN: Positive.
RL: *Sigh* Fine. OK, well, how about an amendment saying that everyone needs to present a government-issued photo ID when they vote?
MN: Wait, what? What kinds of IDs? Why?
RL: Government-issued IDs. Passports, driver's licenses, those kinds of things. Things with your picture and current address on them.
MN: What about student IDs? And passports don't have your address on it. What about military IDs?
RL: Meh, I don't know. We'll figure it out later.
MN: Um, I don't know about this. Wouldn't that keep people from voting.
RL: Well, sure. But only students, minorities, people who move a lot, the elderly--
MN:--wait, wait. That's a pretty long list.
RL: Well, sure. But don't worry. Most of those people vote for liberals.
MN: (uncomfortable silence)
RL: Seriously, don't worry. We'll figure it out. We'll...we'll give people IDs or something.
MN: Won't that be pretty complicated and expensive?
RL: I don't know. Maybe. But it will be worth it to prevent voter fraud.
MN: Do we have a big problem with voter fraud?
RL: No. But we could.
MN: But we don't.
RL: No, you're not listening. We COULD.
MN: ...but we don't.
RL: Well...right.
MN: Yeah, I think we're going to pass on that, too.
RL: You're making a huuuge mistake.
MN: I don't think so. And while we're at it, I think we need to see other people.

And Suddenly...

I sometimes have the feeling that things that happen in my life aren't completely within my control. For the most part, I'm pretty happy to just have life wash over me like waves, and most of the things that have happened to me have been good. And, while I can identify the role I have played in most of my life events, there is still some element of not really being in total control of what is happening.

Buying a house has felt very much like this so far. One day, we're walking around a big, empty house, throwing around numbers, mentally putting furniture in its rooms, and the next day, I'm navigating my way to a huge building where our mortgage guy works, toting my heavy baby in her car seat, diaper bag full of toys and papers that display our income and credit rating. Somehow, I have gotten married, had a baby, and have participated in the purchase of a house. It's unreal. We have a mortgage guy. His name is Chad. We have a real estate agent. His name is Phil. We bought a house. We saved up money for a couple of years and are writing a check for a down payment. We will have a mortgage. My god. It's surreal. It's amazing.

Our real estate agent, Phil, has been fantastic. He has actually been a part of my life for several years now, in a weird way. So, right after I graduated from college and was working at the adoption agency, I had a really long commute. One rainy day during this commute, I rear-ended a Mercedes driven by Phil and caused about $900 of damage. Phil was very nice about the whole thing. He didn't get out of his Mercedes and look at the damage--he came over to me first and asked how I was. When he learned that the damage done would cause my insurance rates to rise, he said he wouldn't rent a car, which would keep the price of the damage low enough that I wouldn't see a price increase in my policy. Being incredibly grateful but having nothing to offer, I thanked him and said if there was anything I could do for him, I'd be happy to do it. He said that he was a real estate agent, and when I was ready to buy my first home, I could look him up. I think he said it in a kind of offhand way, but I mentally filed away his name. Seven years later, I looked him up. He was surprised I had remembered him, and I was happy he didn't think that it was weird that I had remembered him. He's been amazing--so kind, so effective, and very thorough. Chris and I are both glad that, seven years ago, the roads were wet, and that if I had to hit a luxury car, at least it contained someone as nice as Phil.

Anyway, that's what we're up to these days. The baby is good, Chris is loving his new job, and I could not be happier now that I'm home with the baby. She is smiley and giggly, and I think every day that she is the most amazing creature ever to exist on the planet. She's amazing.

Hope you're well!

xo

No Place Like Home

Oh, wow. This weekend really blew my hair back. It was crazy-fun.

OK, no, not really. It was a typical weekend with a baby, which means lots of walking with the stroller, washing some diapers, and passing out around 9:30 on a Saturday night. Sigh...

No, it's alright. Weekends are nice because Chris is home, which means that I get to take a loooong shower twice, and, of course, I get to see him a lot. I will say, though, that's it's been awhile since we went out anywhere. The other day, I put on a pair of high heels to see if they still fit and ended up tottering around like a teenager. Definitely a sign that my feet, and the rest of me, are forgetting how to go all out. But that's OK. I had a bunch of years where being up at 3AM would have been an indication of an amazing night out, and not just the start of a long, long day like it would be now. I'm 29 now, so it's OK that things are mellow.

Things are so mellow here, in fact, that Chris and I have decided that we need to really settle into our new lifestyle. That's right--I'm talking house-fence-dog settled. We've been looking at houses for a few weeks now, and my god, we've found the perfect one. You know how they say that you will just know the right house when you see it? That did not happen with this house. I walked in and immediately thought, 'This is too nice!' I remember bounding from room to room in amazement, blurting out things like, "Whoa!" and "We can afford this?!" It's crazy-good. We're working on it.

But this last weekend, we were looking at some other houses. We first looked at this house that literally made me feel like I was in a scene from Trainspotting. You know how when you take pictures down from the wall and the space under the picture is darker than the rest of the wall because the paint has faded? This house had the opposite thing happening--the walls were so filthy that the paintings had been acting as a dirt-shield. The walls around the pale spaces where the pictures had been were a dingy, rotten orange. The bathroom looked as though crack addicts had been living in it. The kitchen looked like the backroom of a restaurant that should have been condemned. It was revolting. I felt guilty having the baby in there. I also felt slightly better about the clutter in our own small apartment, like I do after watching an episode of Hoarders. We're not buying that one.

Anyway, that's all that has been on my mind lately, other than the baby. She is ridiculously cute lately--all smiley and squealing. She is getting more and more fun every day. I hope we can buy her a house soon.

OK, I hope everything is going well with you! Take it easy!

xo

Homeward Bound

I can't remember the last time I wrote, which is probably a bad sign. It probably also means that no one is reading this, except for Ken. Hi, Ken. How's New Hampshire? (For anyone else reading this, my friend Ken just moved to New Hampshire to work on the campaign to re-elect Obama. It's pretty awesome.) It was actually Ken who oh-so-gently reminded me that I am a stay-at-home mom, so I should be able to update my blog. So, here I am.

Yup, that's right. I am a stay-at-home mom now. Basically, I went back to work for about a week and then decided that, nope, that wasn't going to happen. I put in my notice midway through my second week, worked for another 2 weeks after that, and have been home ever since.

It was a tough decision to make, actually, for a lot of reasons. First, Chris and I had to sit down and hammer out a budget to see if we could financially swing this change. Then, we had to decide if it was the best thing in the long run. This was a much easier choice to make. Sophie was just not the same when she was going to daycare. And yes, I know, she was only there for a month. But the thing is, when we'd go in to pick her up, she'd just be sitting there, alone, staring. When I crouched down to pick her up, she'd look up at me in this sad, passive way and did not smile. She'd conk out at 7 PM, giving me about 2 hours with my baby. Not nearly enough time. I've got a lot to teach this kid and a lot of love to give her, and 2 hours a day is not enough for this.

In addition to this, both Chris and I had incredibly long days. My day usually started before 5AM and included pumping milk during all downtime and no lunch break. Believe me when I say that it was not a treat to spend time with me during the four weeks in which Sophie was in day care. The baby was getting me for two hours a day, and they were not cute hours. And Chris...well, he's a trooper. Let's just say he was more than happy for me to stay home.

And so I did. It's a tough thing to do, actually, because I'm seeing my friends go off and do all these exciting things and advance in their careers, and here I sit. It actually turned out that I had been looking down the barrel of a promotion to middle management in my former position--a bullet I narrowly avoided that ended up getting the next-senior employee at work. It all worked out.

So, now my days are full of baby. I thought I'd be more sad about missing out on work, but I am decidedly not. I've got some things up my sleeve, including picking up a few evening shifts at the hospital and putting in a bid to teach a community education class in the fall, but for the most part, I'm just mom. The baby's happy about that, so I'm all good.

Being a mom has been amazing. Even writing that sentence seems trite. This baby is so incredibly amazing to me, and the fact that she has been entrusted to me astounds me. I have never been so acutely aware of my own strengths and weaknesses, or been so proud of my body, or so grateful to be alive. Life is infinitely more simple now that she is here. Before, there was all this pressure (usually from within) to do things, to make things or do things or be things. And now, all of that is white noise in the background, and the only thing that matters to me, really, is that the baby is OK. As long as she is OK, I'm doing exactly what I need to do. It's a relief.

On the other hand, I have never been so excited for the future. Anything I do, anywhere I go, she'll be there, and that's exciting and reassuring. I can't fully explain the feeling. I'll just stop trying.

Anyway, that's about all I have right now. Sorry, Ken--next time it will be a funny post! But shouldn't you be working to re-elect the president now, anyway?

xo

Spruced Up

So, I found myself in a situation last night that I bet some of you can relate to. I was barefoot, standing in the back room of an organic cafe in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be a space alien who was talking to an alligator. No? Just me? Hmm.

This all started when I was driving home in an unconventional way and noticed a sign that said "Living Waters Organic Cafe" on a little, out of the way building. Since one of my greatest pleasures in life is finding little cafes near my home to frequent, I was excited.

I looked through the menu online and saw that it was good. Then, I noticed a tab at the top labeled "Ongoing Events". I clicked. The page that came up was filled with healing retreats, drum circles, and various things that Chris would probably refer to as "hippie nonsense", including a laughter yoga class. This piqued my interest because I, being clumsy, find yoga to be hilarious. Every yoga class I've ever been to, though, has been so deadly serious that I have been too nervous to even laugh at myself as I flub my way through what are supposed to be the graceful series of calming poses.

I called on my friends to join me in this class, and Laura responded that she'd join me. I envisioned a large group of awkward people just like me, laughing our ways through a traditional yoga class, not feeling as uncoordinated as we would if we were surrounded by lithe, suburban yogis in expensive gear. This, my friend, was NOT the case.

The class started at 5:45 on a Friday, which led me to believe that it was going to be like a refreshing, communal happy hour. I arrived at the cafe before Laura did and was led into a back room that was empty, except for one stone-faced woman. I put my things down and took off my jacket, then introduced myself to her. Her name was Spruce. She wore purple from head to toe, including a purple velour tracksuit and a purple buzz cut with a long, braided rat tail. Spruce told me with a very serious expression that she was "usually a hugger", but she had a cold so she was going to keep her distance. She told me about some 'inner child work' she had done with one of her clients that day and gave me a business card with her reiki practice's information on it. When she left for a moment, I sent Laura a text: "Only one other person. Her name is Spruce."

Shockingly, Spruce turned out to be the class leader. I got a sinking feeling when Spruce told me that this was not a traditional yoga class, and that actually, we wouldn't be doing any yoga. Laura and I decided later, over a beer, that calling the class 'yoga' should be considered fraud. But I digress. Spruce and I began our warm up, which consisted of stretching towards the ceiling and pretending we were playing in the clouds, and pretending that we were throwing colored paint at the walls. This imaginary paint was meant to represent "all the stuff we'd let stick to ourselves over the course of the day", and all the "negative judgments we made about ourselves". I thought about the nice day I'd had--hanging out with the baby, making mittens out of an old sweater, having Chris come home early to make me a grilled cheese--and didn't really feel the need to throw emotional paint at the walls. Oh, and we also gave ourselves a lot of hugs.

Laura arrived in the middle of this. When Spruce was bending at the waist and "allowing gravity to do its thing", we exchanged a look. My look said, "I'm sorry", and hers said, "Are you kidding me?" Now, let me just say that neither Laura nor I are closed-minded individuals. She went to Sarah Lawrence, for God's sake. I have a degree in person-centered counseling. We both do yoga. We're not some kind of corn-fed Republican stockbrokers or anything. But the next 45 minutes really tested us.

So, Spruce led us in some fake laughter that was meant to get us breathing and laughing correctly. She informed us that a lot of the laughter would probably be fake, but that, "with time, we could learn to really laugh". She was probably one of the most serious and unfunny people alive today. I found it extremely odd that this dour woman was leading a class about laughter, when I had a hard time imagining her laughing, or even smiling, or even really feeling happy. At one point, she stopped to think about one of the exercises. She muttered to herself, completely straight-faced, "Is it ho-ho-haha? Or haha-ho-ho? I always get my hohos and hahas mixed up." Laura lost it. I lost it. We both started laughing, really laughing. And since that was the point of the class, we just kept on laughing. We laughed when Spruce suggested we pretend to be space aliens looking for Earth's leader, when we pretended to be at a casino buffet, eating various things that made us laugh in different ways (I think it's possible that Spruce ate something before class that made her laugh, if you know what I mean), and when we had to lie on the floor, listening to what is basically a one-woman laugh track on CD (which we were told was available for download for $10). At one point, Laura and I were lying there on our backs on the floor of this backroom, listening to insane laughter coming from the CD and from Spruce, just laughing like maniacs, and I thought, "This is what it must feel like to be insane". Laura just kept laughing, sporadically saying, "Oh my god". Whether or not we were laughing for the right reason, we were laughing.

The class ended after a brief relaxation exercise. Spruce told us we could try to use what we had learned to try to incorporate laughter into our daily lives, even if it was forced. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking why in the world she was teaching a class about laughter when, it seemed, she didn't really laugh that often. Maybe that's why she was trying to teach it--because she needed the practice. In any case, that's what I did with my Friday night.

In keeping with the theme of laughter, Sophie laughed for the first time on Thursday. She was in the bath tub, having the time of her life, and it was the best thing I think I've ever heard. It made me cry.
Hope you're well!
xo

Big Salty Tears

First, let me just acknowledge that it's been a long time since I wrote. Then, let me acknowledge that I am not too sorry about this because the baby is happy and healthy, and that accomplishment has absorbed the majority of my time in the eight weeks since she was born.

So, another reason for my lapse in blog updates has been because most of my days have sort of started to run together into one, long, bleary-eyed day that is punctuated by fluctuating amounts of sleep that can't really be called 'nights'. I have entire expanses of time in which I can't identify one thing that I've done, said, eaten, or written. So when a moment of time appears in which I feel somewhat coherent, I will take some time to write. This is one of those moments.

The final excuse for my blogging absence is that there really hasn't been anything funny to write about. I could go on and on about the baby--how cute she is while kicking her little legs in the bath, how she loves to pee on the changing table, how I am routinely covered in a fine film of baby vomit, how she started to smile about 10 days ago and it's been the happiest 10 days of my life--but I am so obsessively in love with this baby that those things would be all I ever write about, and I would lose what remains of my readership. I'm telling you, I would write so persistently, unwaveringly about the baby, in so much unnecessary detail, that even her adoring grandparents would roll their eyes and think to themselves, "Dude, give it a rest."

There's also something distinctly unfunny about having a baby. The things that I might have laughed about in other peoples' blogs about their babies are not the least bit funny to me. What? They cried when their babies got their 2-month vaccinations? That's funny! Their baby won't remember and will be just fine! But when my baby was lying on a cold table, naked and screaming, it was not funny. She may have been just fine after a moment, but I wasn't. And it wasn't (and still isn't) funny. When the guy on the radio was talking about his wife's weeping response to putting their baby in daycare, it was a funny story. But to me, lying in bed at 3AM, worried sick about turning over the most important person in the world to me to strangers so I can go to my detestable job for 8 hours a day, it is anything but funny.

So, that's how it's been over here. Poor Chris. Send nice thoughts his way. He is handling my new-mom insanity with about as much patience, love, and humor as anyone ever could. Sometimes I stop paying attention to how awesome everything is because I'm caught up in something negative (I clipped the baby's nails the other day and accidentally nicked her tiny fingertip, which caused more crying for the two of us, for example). But then sometimes, I take inventory and realize I have an amazing husband, a beautiful, happy baby, and healthy family all over the world who loves the three of us, and there is so much to be grateful for that my attention is pulled in the right direction until the next moment of parental clumsiness.

But enough about that. The other thing that has been going on recently--really, the only other thing of any interest--is that Chris gave me a sewing machine for my birthday and I am trying to make things. I have a history of poor follow-through when it comes to, oh, everything, but especially crafty things like this. That's why there is an unfinished painting of a squirrel in our closet, and the reason that the only thing I have ever knitted has been scarf after scarf after wonkily-knitted scarf. But I am determined to get good at this new hobby. First, though, I have to do it "the Christina way". This basically entails jumping into something without really paying attention to the way others have successfully done it for years, failing or at least falling short of my own expectations, then resigning myself to the fact that I need to follow the directions, at least for a little while. And that's why there's a half-sewn tube of fabric sitting next to the sewing machine which will probably never become the skirt I'd like it to be. But someday...someday you'll see me wearing something I've made. No, not another hole-y scarf. I mean something I've sewn.

OK, hope all is well with you!
xo

How Much?!

So, it's been awhile. I'm not going to make excuses, mostly because all the excuses I have start with "The baby...", as in, "The baby needs a lot of feeding!" or "The baby kept me up all night/morning." No, I'm not going to make excuses because I don't believe anyone is actually reading this. I read somewhere (OK, I didn't read it, I just made it up) that you lose half your readership for every week that goes by without a blog post. Since only about 3 people read this blog when posts were made more frequently, I fully expect that the rest of you have dropped off. And I don't blame you. No, I do not.

And maybe it's a good thing you've stopped reading, because I'm going to talk about something serious now, and something that I've talked about before (no, not the baby this time): health care in America.

Recently, due to a lack of having their crap together and an excess of their own heads up their asses, the billing staff failed to acknowledge that our baby was added to my insurance plan when she was born. How this happened, I do not know. When I preregistered, then re-registered at the hospital, they took my information down and I thought things were OK. After I got home with the baby, I added her to my policy and was told the plan would cover her retroactively starting the day she was born. Stupidly, I thought this would actually work. It didn't.

Anyway, long story short, I received a bill in the mail yesterday that demanded I pay them a small fortune for her "care" in the hospital. And let me just clarify, yes, that is sarcasm. If anyone should be paid for the baby's care in the hospital, it should be me. I fed her. I changed her. I rocked her to sleep. They only came in to weigh her and comment about how much hair she had.

But I digress. The amount we were billed, because they believed the baby didn't have health insurance, could cover a good portion of a down payment on a small house. It could buy a used Japanese car. It could cover half a year at UMM when I was attending. And this bill included what I learned was the "uninsured patient discount", which is a seemingly random amount that is knocked off the price out of pity. It wasn't even half of the total price of the care.

My heart literally skipped a beat when I saw the bill. I called Chris in a panic. The next day, when I spoke to the billing representative, it became clear that a mistake had been made, and I came down off the ceiling and rejoined normal life. But for a few hours, I knew the panic that uninsured people must feel when they receive a bill like this.

Here's why it was silly of me to feel that way: I am employed, married to someone who is also employed, have more than enough money in savings to have paid the bill without any effect on my day to day life, and would have been able to replenish the savings within a month or two with a little effort. What if I wasn't employed, wasn't able to get a good job, wasn't married? What if I'd received the full bill for my care and the baby's care, which totaled almost $30,000? What if I had this new baby AND a mountain of medical bills?

At this moment, there are about 50 million people who could potentially receive necessary medical care, and then a bill like this. FIFTY MILLION. When they do get care and can't pay those bills, where does the money come from? The cost is divvied up and passed along to everyone. It's like shoplifting, except instead of stealing a sweater, the uninsured are getting lifesaving medical treatment that they would gladly pay for if they could. The price of the sweater is raised to cover the one that wasn't paid for. The same thing happens with medical care. This is why I was charged about $3000 for each night I spent in the hospital, and I couldn't even get anyone to answer my call light.

My little moment of panic deepened my belief that we need, need, NEED to make health care accessible to everyone. We need a public option--not a forced plan for everyone, but the option of having care provided by the government for those people who don't have a job that gives them health insurance. Health insurance can not continue to be run by companies that seek to make profits, and can not continue to be seen as a luxury item for the middle and upper classes, or those of us lucky enough to continue to be employed.

A friend of mine received an itemized bill for her recent hospital stay. In it, there was a $18 charge for a "mucus disposal system". She figured out this was actually just a fancy term for the box of Kleenex provided in her room. Eighteen dollar Kleenex! This is madness. Let's do something about it.

Hope you're well!
xo

Eat, Sleep, Eat, Repeat.

Writing more often isn't working. There, I said it. You know it, I know it, but I didn't want to dance around it. What am I doing that is more important than writing? To begin with, I'm keeping an infant alive. I'm also napping. To be fair, I'm napping because I'm keeping an infant alive for a few hours in the middle of every night.

So, I'd love to say that I've been doing things that are really funny to write about and interesting for you to read, but that would be a lie. And I'd never, ever lie to you. I may exaggerate for comedic effect, but I'd never flat-out lie. No, basically, my life for the past 4 weeks has been feed the baby, change the baby, feed the baby, wipe up something that has been forcibly ejected from the baby, kiss and cuddle the baby, feed the baby, sleep for about 2 hours, feed the baby, sleep for 2 hours, feed the baby, try to find time to eat and drink something that will turn into food for the baby. So... That's that.

Chris and I are celebrating our 2-year anniversary tomorrow! I can't believe it's been 2 years already. He's the best. He's probably the most laid-back man on the planet when it comes to this whole baby thing. I'll be frantic about something having to do with feeding the baby, or the way things have shifted physically, or a number of post-pregnancy issues and he'll just say, "You're doing a great job. Look how happy the baby is. I love you", or some other comforting thing. And then I really pay attention to how happy and chubby the baby is or how much he still likes me the way I am, and everything's OK until the next "crisis" I mentally create.

But again, I will just say that this baby is the best person in the world and I couldn't ever have imagined feeling this way about another human being. She has turned me into a marshmallow and a grizzly bear at the same time. I feel like I've known her forever, but she's brand new. She's the most beautiful and interesting thing on the planet, even at 3, 4 and 5AM. I'm smitten.

With that, I'm going to leave you. The baby's hungry!
xo