It started out all pink and wrinkled, or in your case, pretty yellow with jaundice. Then it was soft and flaky, adjusting to the air out in the real world. Around your tiny toes- red and peeling. And on top of your little knees it was full of folds when you lengthened out your spindly legs that, for a baby, seemed too long.
The skin you live in, that will accompany you through all of your days, after that wrinkly phase, started to fill out.
It got plump as you did, and stretched to fit around your squishy, squeezable thighs. And showed us signs of sitting in the sun too long (fair, like mama, any time is too long).
It’s gotten sticky with bandaids on your legs after shots, and on your little hand, where your IV was placed during your hospital stay.
The way it creases around your eyes, like Daddy’s, especially when you’ve just woken up.
The way it dimples in; one on your chin, and two more on your cheeks.
It’s smooth and soft when Mama rubs your back before bed, or when Daddy pats your belly to make you laugh.
On your cheeks, Daddy says, they’re his favorite, when it’s cold and wet.
And now that you’re insisting on growing and moving, it’s losing that softness around your knees and your elbows. That little bit of toughness, showing that you’re no longer brand new.
And with time it will toughen and wrinkle in a new way, in so many new ways. And Daddy and I will watch you change and grow and move in that same skin. That skin that I gave you, that I fell in love with the moment it warmed mine, when you were handed to me for the very first time, all pink and wrinkled.
Last week some coworkers and I were talking about our “dream jobs.”
These were jobs within reason though, nothing absurd or unrealistic and still within our field.
However, it did get me thinking and my absurd unrealistic dream job would be a mom blogger.
I follow so, so many of them on social media and I want their lives.
Most of them are small business owners or stay-at-home moms.
Some spend many hours of their day just getting hair and makeup done and taking professional photos of themselves and their kids.
I actually have no clue how they get paid for their blogging. But sign me up.
Alhough on March 1st this year I had to reset my password to my blog and relearn how to use the website.
After this challenge last year I though, I really liked this. Maybe I’ll blog throughout the year too!
But I didn’t. So, blog world, I’d like to say I’ll write. But, odds are, I’ll be back March 1st, 2019.
I wish I would have snuggled him a little longer in that swaddle. Stared at his little face while he wiggled his hands up toward it as if to say this thing can’t stop me!
I wish I would have made 10 more videos of the way he would stretch his arms out after I undid the Velcro. And the way he would purse his lips and move his head back and forth while stretching, before smiling at me every morning.
I wish I would have really soaked it in, while he looked like a little worm all wrapped up tight, comforted, like when he was in my belly.
I wish I would have sat in the rocker in his room a little while longer, watching his chest rise and fall and his pacifier twitch between his little lips. And watch his tiny fingers poke out of the bottom of the swaddle flaps.
Because all of the sudden this stage is over and I. Don’t. Want. To. Forget.
I held on to it as long as I could but tonight, he is sleeping with no swaddle. Like a big boy.
I snuck into his room after he was asleep. I parted the darkening curtains just a little so some light could get in. I needed to take a picture of his first night without a swaddle.
I don’t want to forget anything. And it all happened so fast.
“Does he have teeth?”
”What’s his name?”
”Is he a boy?”
“I’m a boy!”
”What does he eat?”
”He has blue eyes like mine!”
”He’s actually cuter than my brother!”
”He looks exactly the same as my brother.”
”When will he get teeth?”
”My teeth wiggle!”
”I can whistle, watch!”
And it only went downhill from there.
It reminded me of that word association game where someone says a word and then someone else has to think of something related. You have to think quickly to play this game, but the point is that the topics are all interconnected. So actually it isn’t like that at all.
It actually was more like that telephone game where someone starts a phrase, and then it goes through the group and by the end doesn’t resemble the same idea at all. Not even a hint of the original idea is left by the time you are done. Definitely more like telephone.
Today the baby met my husband’s students.
After putting the baby down for his first nap, I went back to my bedroom to get myself ready for the day.
I had literally zero plans today, which is amazing, but still wanted to wash my face, brush my teeth, etc.
Sitting on the counter next to the sink was my toothbrush, already pre-loaded with toothpaste, and a string of new floss.
I am so loved.
Today I was putting caramel flavored almond milk creamer in my coffee. This is the first time I’ve had anything resembling cream in my coffe since I cut out eating dairy. (Side note: it’s delicious.)
On the side of the small bottle it reads “Not to be used as infant formula.” What? Is that an actual warning?
All I could think of was the McDonald’s lawsuit over the hot coffee... being hot. From what Google tells me, it was an almost 3 million dollar settlement. This, however, was brought on by a woman spilling on and burning herself.
Why does my cream need to warn me not to use as infant formula? If I put two and two together, it appears that someone must have tried to use it as infant formula. I decided not to Google that.
While we’re at it, though, don’t use coffee as infant formula either. You’ve been warned.
This morning some friends came to visit. This afternoon I happened to send a picture of the baby to one of those friends.
Her response: Oh he changed his outfit!
I couldn’t help but laugh at this because I had changed outfits, too. As soon as company left, we both got back into our PJs.
This is just how I live my life. As soon as I get home, I change my clothes. I always have, as long as I can remember.
As a kid it was school clothes to play clothes.
In high school it was school clothes to work clothes, or school clothes to going-out clothes.
College was school clothes to going-out clothes.
As an adult it’s work clothes to PJs.
As soon as humanly possible, PJs.
It seems to now be an unspoken rule at our house, which my husband and I have followed as long as I can remember.
I don’t think I could ever really feel at home unless I am in my PJs.
Most of my day was spent cleaning the house.
I also had to go to pick up groceries and run to Walgreens for a couple of things.
It’s very rare that I have gone somewhere without the baby anytime since he was born. This isn’t because I worry about leaving him, but moreso that either my husband isn’t home, or if someone needs to run out it’s just easier for him to go and me to stay with the baby.
But today I went to run the quick errands, and I stopped for a special treat for Mama.
Since I have such strict dietary restrictions, I really never get to eat “junk food.” But I recently found out that I can eat the fries at Five Guys, and I’ve been dying for some since then.
So I drove out of the way 10 minutes, got myself a large fries, and ate them in the car with zero guilt. It was amazing.
The girl who took my order even complimented my hair. Win.
My first day of spring break was planned already to be a full day. A first birthday party and a wedding in the evening meant that I was going to be very busy running from place to place.
This became even more concerning to me when the baby decided that last night was the night he would need to eat every hour.
I’ve read this somewhere, but I don’t remember where, I wish I was as tired as I though I was before I had kids.
This morning on the way to school, I ended up behind a school bus.
Since I wasn’t running late today (amazing) I didn’t mind waiting for two stops across the street from my school. I even saw a few old students who were boarding the bus.
It made me think about when I was in high school and my sister and I would take the bus to school.
Now, these days, I am late for everything but honestly, back then I wasn’t. I was ready for the bus every day and would wait for my sister downstairs with my backpack in my hands.
I would watch her rush into the kitchen, do a hit and run of the fridge, tornado toward the laundry room, throw laundry everywhere before she found the sweater she wanted (probably mine), fight with me about the sweater, and then watch the bus go by out the kitchen window.
Oops. Better wake mom.
We were really lucky that mom was home and able to drive us to school.
Until she decided enough was enough and refused to drive us.
She can’t be serious.
But it’s raining.
This is child abuse.
I learned that day never to wait for my sister.