A day is twenty four hours that I keep track of by when the baby is awake, eating, pooping or sleeping.
It doesn’t actually matter what hour it is, whether or not the sun is up or down, what day of the week it is.
When he’s sleeping, sometimes I sleep. I berate myself when I find myself, eyes drooping, scrolling through my Facebook feed making sure to like and comment so you don’t think I’ve fallen into a completely selfish (though simultaneously selfless) suck hole.
Other times, when I have energy and I’ve squeezed in a meal, I look at the pile of clean clothes and feel like that’s as good as it’s gonna get because folding and putting away is not a priority.
I actually changed the sheets today and washed the comforter. Free laundry (and soap) makes a huge difference.
I try not to let the wipes get down to less than ten, knowing if I let it get too low, that’s when the baby will crap twice and pee on himself.
I refill the diaper drawer, empty the diaper pail, try to bring dirty dishes up to the kitchen (though I leave them there for my mom to wash).
I stare at the dirty bathroom sink and floor, the carpeting that needs a vacuum, the bedroom that could use a general tidying and then push it out of my mind
It doesn’t matter if I’m still in my pajamas at noon, as long as a shower happens at some point.
This is my life. Exhilarating and tedious all at once. A sort of endless, non-vacation that is highlighted with moments of a peaceful or active baby.
I have no interest in my former life because it’s just not a reality. And truthfully, as much as I miss having nothing to do, having no real responsibility, having the option to do whatever I want whenever I want, it doesn’t actually seem better than what’s going on now.
It’s simply different; other.
And since I don’t mourn it all that much, it’s hard for me to relate to any of it. It’s not that I don’t care or that I don’t want to hear about it. I just don’t yearn for it, can’t envision it anymore.
We took the baby to his second doctor’s visit and when I asked the pediatrician a question she said I should ask my friends. This bummed me out.
While I know a lot of moms, I wish my closest girl friends had babies. I feel weird sending emails to girls I’m not super close with, instead finding a distant solace in Facebook Group Pages filled with strangers’ comments and questions.
A friend said having a baby was one of her loneliest moments even though she was never alone.
I totally understand.