In the last four weeks, you have made me…
A contortionist… When one is attempting to stand from a couch with a sleeping newborn and simultaneously retrieve a cellphone, pacifier, other miscellaneous personal belongings and then turn off a lamp, open a dog gate, and navigate a flight of stairs, it is amazing what positions and pretzels one’s body transforms into to keep the sleeping newborn, indeed, asleep. I have learned how to scoot items down a coffee table with my legs and elbows, wedge multiple items between my extremities and trunk, and even, unashamedly, retrieve items with my feet and toes when desperate times call for desperate measures. I am auditioning for Cirque du Soleil next month.
A health inspector and raging hypochondriac... The very few times you have been around strangers in the last four weeks, they quickly get the side eye if they so much as breathe incorrectly. Heaven forbid, if they cough, the emergency evacuation ensues because… germs. You are getting those shots soon, girlfriend. S-o-o-n.
A stage-five clinger…. Bless your poor newborn photographer’s heart (this will be a future post as she was fabulous) because I kept creeping down the hallway and peeking my head through your nursery door approximately every 5 minutes (seconds) because I am that obsessed with you and can’t be left out of any of your daily happenings. If you opened your eyes more often, you would find me creepily hovering over your rock & play, swing, crib, etc., just staring at you, still trying to comprehend how you’re possibly mine. Bless your heart when you’re older. I am going to be that Mom in the car rider line with the camera hanging out of the car window.
An exterminator… Despite the fact that we have already purchased a mosquito net and wrap said mosquito net around any item that you’re in for more than five minutes when you’re outside, I still have deemed myself exterminator extraordinaire and meticulously inspect your net for loopholes and escape artists and then recruit my assistant, Andrew, to rapidly remove these pests before they reach you. I may or may not have smushed a bug between my fingers multiple times to make sure that it was definitely flat-lined and not reviving itself to return to your carrier.
A taste tester… I have, without shame, consumed water out of your bottles to ensure that I washed all of the soap remnants out of these. I had no idea that washing baby bottles was rocket science or that I would become the aforementioned hypochondriac, but somehow, someway, I found myself standing at the kitchen sink with spit-up in my “top knot” drinking water out of your bottles. I am still awaiting my transformation into Timothy Mouse on Dumbo, burping out a month’s supply of bubbles.
A science lab instructor… It is astounding the number of your diapers that I have investigated and dissected to assess the color, the consistency, and smell. It is even more astounding the number of pictures of other children’s diapers that I have accessed on the good old World Wide Web to compare the color and consistency. Thank goodness, no smell. Thanks to your milk allergy, I am becoming quite the scientist, blowing up the pediatrician’s phone lines at the slightest change from the standard deviation. You’re truly becoming their favorite patient.
A novice photographer…When you have a closet full of clothes, a plethora of bows, and a first-time mom, every day is a photoshoot, and every facial expression and object you’re placed on becomes the perfect photo op and backdrop. From your furry rug to a bed throw, you’ve been photographed on them all, and if I manage to get your furry sibling in the picture, I am really moving up in the photography world.
An off-key Gospel/nursery rhyme singer… Our days are full of The Itsy Bitsy Spider, Old McDonald, Twinkle Twinkle, You are My Sunshine, Jesus Loves the Little Children, He’s got the Whole World, and the occasional Ray LaMontagne and NSYNC number. As mentioned in the last post, you get unlimited access to exclusive lyrics as I often forget the correct song bridge and words. In my new mom delirium, I even convinced myself once that I sounded pretty good; if I get you to sleep via singing, I hear Seacrest saying, “You’re going to Hollywood.”
Yet, my dear, of all the things you have made me in the last four weeks, the greatest of all is….
All of the other roles and responsibilities pale in comparison to the joy, abundance, depth and love found in becoming your mother. Yet, I don all of these crazy hats and complete all of these daily jobs because I am your mother. I will continue my role as a contortionist and bend over backward to ensure that you are safe and happy in this world. I will continue to attempt to exterminate the pests and heartache from your journey. I will continue to test out the waters before you in hopes to reduce the amount of times that you stumble. I will continue to examine and dissect the color and consistencies of your every day to ensure that you are learning and growing and discovering the abundance that this life offers. I will continue to be the off-key choir, singing and cheering you on in each domain of your life, hoping that even if you forget the words of the song that you create your own lyrics as you go.
I will continue all of these because I am your mother, and I love you immeasurably. Thank you for the last four weeks, my beautiful girl. Thank for giving me the greatest gift.
Thank you for making me Mom.