I’ve written a few posts (in a notebook that never found their way to the computer) since I’ve had my child. What can I say? Being a new parent is a job all by itself, one that I enjoy and am completely consumed by. Sometimes I wonder if life will ever go back to the way it was–a life of work, and myself, all the time to myself (not that I want it to). No more diapers and barf rags, no more wee hours of the morning staring at pretty blue eyes saying, “Ehem, are you ever going to bed?” And she’ll just coo at me.
Ah, the coos they make all your frustrations go away. They don’t take away the dark circles under my eyes, but who has time to look at those? I’ve been hit by the baby train. It’s a locomotive that makes women gaga over plump, little humans. I see babies everywhere. Everywhere, I tell you. I can’t go to the grocery store without seeing another baby! And then of course, that train comes and bombards my thoughts with ones that are really–let’s face it–not important. I’ll wonder how old the child is, only so I can compare it to my own. Yeah, I’m worried about her growth already. God help me when she starts school.
I don’t stop and ask the other mom how old her kid is, thank goodness. I find it odd and awkward. I’ve had people ask me and it usually catches me off guard. I’ll be examining the carrots and some older gentleman will ask how old my daughter is. I have to pause and switch from thinking about mold to how many weeks have gone by since I’ve given birth. For awhile there my little girl was stuck at 8 weeks old. Maybe I liked the idea of her being 2 months instead of x weeks.
My favorite blunder was, “oh what a cute little boy.” Yeah…that always goes over well especially when the child is dressed in pink! Come on, pink for boys? I don’t think she looks like a boy but, hey, I’m her mother.