Tuesday

I like Tuesday.

I guess I'm glowing. I just wrote a long email to a friend describing all the cool things Sam does now, and how great his brothers are, and how many times he wakes up to eat at night, and how often he poops, etc. Okay, not the last one.

The thing is, you carry this little tiny baby in your belly for nine months, and you've been trying to get him in there for two years, and face it, you wanted him in there since you were 11, but the whole time you're pregnant you're thinking, "Am I really going to be any good at this? What is my life going to be like? Am I going to regret it? How could this little baby really love me?"

And then he arrives, and your whole world is topsy turvy. And you love it. And you hate it. And you are adamant about breastfeeding, but your whole body says NO! And people ask you what you need, and all you can say is "Sleep." And your husband becomes even more precious to you, but you are mad at him all the time for no good reason. And the whole time you're worrying, "Is he eating enough? Is he growing enough? Does he know who I am? How are we going to make ends meet when I can't even answer the phone?"

And one morning, when you lift him out of his bassinet, he smiles at you. And that big toothless grin lets you know that he does know who you are, and dammit, he's happy to see you. And one night you're breastfeeding while your husband snores next to you, and he falls asleep in your arms. And you hold him for 10 minutes extra because sleep doesn't matter as much as that time with him and how he trusts you.

It falls together. He figures out how to play by himself for thirty minutes so you can type an email and how to fall asleep in the swing while Raffi plays in the background so you can do the dishes. You figure out how to change diapers in the dark and when to pump so you can freeze some milk for your meeting.

Gotta go. My baby needs me.