My Darling Bookworms,
You’ll have to forgive me, I’m about to leak a bunch of feelings onto the internet. I scheduled this post to go live at 8:09 am central time on August 22, 2018 because at that very moment Sammy will have spent exactly 365 days breathing the air of planet Earth. (Sorry about the air quality, buddy.)
I’m a natural pessimist, so, as I mentioned yesterday, I read a lot about the difficult parts of early parenthood. I discussed the possibility of postpartum depression with my doctors before Sammers was born and was totally prepared to call in the reinforcements if needed. I’d read that not everyone immediately bonds with their child and that you’re not a monster if that happens. I’d read that breastfeeding can be incredibly difficult and that it’s totally OK if it doesn’t work out for you. I knew that I was going to be covered in all manner of bodily fluids at different points in time and attempted to steel my ickyness reflex. Heck, I’d even read posts about the first post labor bowel movement being the stuff nightmares were made of. There was no blog post too over-share-y. I was NOT going to go into this blind.
Side note: I’d recommend that all pregnant people do a little PPD research before the baby arrives. It really upsets me that PPD is so stigmatized and taboo. It can happen to ANYBODY and it doesn’t make you a bad parent. The stigma is garbage and leads to unsuspecting new parents suffering in silence during what should be a hormone-fueled haze of wonder and sleeplessness and joy. If you still feel like an emotional train wreck after 2 weeks, CALL YOUR DOCTOR. This has been a public service announcement. (For the record, I wasn’t afflicted with PPD so it’s pretty easy for me to tell people to reach out. But, I mean, you’d have treated your gestational diabetes, wouldn’t you? It’s not a personal failing to require medical assistance.)
To recap, I was prepared for the bad stuff (most of which I avoided by pure dumb luck.) I was not, however, prepared for this tidal wave of heart-eye-emoji, all-consuming adoration. I thought I’d be relieved to have survived the first year of parenthood, not clutching Sammy’s teddy bear in a dim living room and crying because it had all gone by so quickly. I am a SUCH a cliché. Just goes to show that parenting probably never matches anyone’s expectations.
This tiny person that I see every day? I just love him so much! Don’t get me wrong, screaming babies in the middle of the night aren’t any fun. But sometimes after he’s been snoozing in his crib for a while and I’m not ready for bed yet? I miss him. (I’m almost afraid to type that because I’ve become extremely superstitious when it comes to sleep and now he’ll probably stop sleeping altogether and I’ll be a zombie. He still doesn’t usually sleep through the night, so I don’t get to miss him for too long.)
I’d be content to snuggle Sam and watch Sesame Street for hours on end. Every time he learns something new I’m filled with pure delight. I’m completely undeserving of this sweet, kind, occasionally rascally little boy.
Happy Birthday, Samuel James. I love you throughout all the infinite universes. To the moon and back simply is not far enough.
Oh right, this is a book blog. Ha! I read I Love You Just Like This! to Sammers the other night before bed and got choked up. It’s the perfect book for your Elmo obsessed kiddo and your Mama Heart. (Thank you, Auntie Angie!)