martinimade

Like, you forget how hard these first six weeks are and how much they suck. You forget what it is like to sleep for about 45 minutes at a clip and how helpless a little 8 pound person can make you feel. You forget that this is a long endurance race, not a sprint. And you forget this just like you forget how much labor sucks and what you feel like for a bit afterwards.

Still, it helps to have done it once, even though I've forgotten so much stuff. All I have to do is look at the Diva and know that it is worth it, that it will get much, much better, even if it may not feel like it at 4 a.m. and there has been non-stop screaming for hours. I also know that, sometimes, it helps to put a silly outfit on the new one, simply because it amuses you. And I know that my body will recover, eventually and that I will never, ever do this again. I will never have to endure a first night home again, or a second night. Once these three months are done -- the six-week mark is when it simply gets not as bad -- I'll never do them again with one of my kids. Sometimes, this is what gets you through.

Yesterday, I kind of asked for the night we had last night. I got cocky, thinking that I'd figured this baby thing out. I forgot that they always have a curve ball ready. And I desperately wanted the calvalry to swoop in. The calvary -- in the form of grandma Roth -- will be here Sunday. If I can manage to not get cocky again, we just may make it.

FYI -- it sounds more bleak than it is, I suspect. Watching The Daily Show helps, as does Anthony Bourdain's new series on the Travel Channel. What would help more is if there were something on daytime TV that didn't make your teeth hurt. Thank God for the DVR and Netflix and Jim Dale.

More pixs eventually. Pinky swear.