She is six months old today. Six months later and we have a new normal. And that’s okay. It may be new, but it’s normal again. That’s what counts.
I was very skeptical that this would happen. The first four months were mind-blowing on a minute by minute basis. I talked about it to many friends, and a lot of them would say “I don’t remember…”
don’t remember? DON’T REMEMBER? This is a biggest thing that could ever happen to a human being, how could that slip your mind?
…and yet, I find that I am letting it slip my mind. I can remember the blazing terror of those months. But I don’t have to feel that way right now, and I’d rather repress that memory. So I let it slip. And maybe eventually I won’t remember at all.
I do remember though. I remember thinking I couldn’t swallow the idea of a whole day at a time, and that I could only think in 3 hour chunks. That if I’d had a bad night of very little sleep, I would dread the next nightfall with liquified guts. I’d tell myself that it must be possible to get through this because people had done it from time immemorial and I’d tell myself that same thing again because I did not believe it.
Now I wonder how people manage to have more than one child. I can tell myself, ‘oh NOW I know how to do it, now I know what to expect.’ But I don’t believe it.
Except I do know a little. A very little. Mostly what I know is that it get to normal eventually. More than that, I can’t rely on.
In these six months, my blog has (d)evolved into a mommy blog. I’m not writing about abstract ideas or cute little parables. It’s all about sleeping and eating and growing.