Sophia is three months old. The days have considerably less time in them now than they did just four short months ago. Oh, I thought I was pretty busy then, but I wasn’t. At least, not nearly so much. Now the laundry piles up beside the washing machine, just begging for me to take a few seconds and go put a load in (I literally just got up in the middle of writing this blog post to put a load in because I finally remembered) . The pile of laundry waiting to be folded is even more ridiculous, because as easy as it is to just get up and go put a load of laundry in after I’ve sat down for Sofi’s nap, it’s decidedly more difficult to commit to spending the few minutes of time during Sofi’s nap folding laundry. (Have I mentioned how much I hate folding laundry? I feel like I have…)
Honestly, sometimes it feels like I’ve run around the house all day long–and accomplished nothing because if Sofi wasn’t stuck to one of my boobs her diaper needed changed, and if it wasn’t eating time or diaper time, it was holding time, and by golly if you’re watching Sofi and you’re not holding her up so she can stand on your knees and look around, she’s just not going to be a happy baby.
I love being a mother. I really do. It’s time consuming, and a lot of work, and generally creates paranoia (in me anyways. sunburns, bumps, spit-up, redness, tears, poop… if Sofi does it, I’m worried about whether it’s normal or not) but just waking up every morning to this smiling face makes it all worth it.
Sometimes moments catch me by surprise. I’ll look down at the smiling, alien, sunbeam in my arms and stop short. I am this baby’s mama. It’s so weird to realize that I’m actually a mom now. Being a mom is what other people do. My mom, for example. Me, a mom? My superman and me, parents? It makes me laugh a little bit, because we don’t feel any different. We still feel like newlyweds, and I still feel like a college kid on summer break. It tickles me that it still kinda catches us by surprise when we wake up on the weekend to Sofi’s irritated squeals.
Cue thought process at 6:50 AM on Saturday morning: Man, I wish that kid would stop fussing… oh wait… that’s our kid. We’re the parents of this baby. This noisy, funny odor-emitting, funny substance emitting, beautiful baby girl that doesn’t have a battery you can take out for a timeout, and she didn’t come with a pause or mute button. (We checked on Day 2 of her life outside the belly, at the 3:30 AM feeding)
To be completely honest, I started out thinking I would write a very eloquent blog post about being a new mama. But I can’t find the words. Maybe some day, when the laundry isn’t piled up, if I have a minute to think I’ll be able to come up with that eloquent soliloquy that is running through my head and write something beautiful about how amazing life is, and how beautiful Sophia is, and how I hope I’ll be a good mama to her. Then again, maybe that’s the type of thing that just can’t be put into words because it’s too sweet, and too special, and the only way to understand it is to actually live it.