Postpartum: Three Months

Our son is now a little over three months old. Everyone keeps telling us how fast babies grow up, and I'm beginning to see how true it is.

We took our first official family portraits yesterday, and little boy showed OUT. Everything he could've done, he did. Fussed, cried, threw up, pooped...it was a true test of parental fortitude. But once we got a look at the pictures, you could scarcely tell that the shots were taken between bouts of tantrums and regurgitation clean up. Exhibit A above. He looks like a calm, cute little suspendered angel.

In the end, I was happy with our pictures. I still have tons of thank you cards to write and perhaps people will overlook the tardiness if I enclose a picture of the little guy.

Sometimes I still can't believe it. I'm married (coming up on three years next month), and have a child. I don't know if it's quite registered with me yet. I don't know what it will take to register that this is my life. In addition to daughter, sister, friend, wife, and professional, I have officially added "mother" to the facets of who I am. I guess I'm still figuring out what that means.

Every time I hit a milestone, I have this thought or expectation, even, that I'll feel differently. That I'll be a different, better, more secure version of myself. Once I got married. Once I finished my PhD. Once I got a tenure-track job. Once I had a child. But what has proven itself time and time again is the fact that I will always be me. The same me that I've always been. Nothing external will ever make me feel ultimately validated or confident or competent or like an adult.

Three months out, I'm still not where I want to be weight wise. I know it will continue to take time. Regardless, I have to come to terms with my new body. Even if I did accomplish the feat of getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight, my body still wouldn't be the same as it was before. I thought getting up at ungodly hours to nurse a hungry baby would be the hardest thing, but that part wasn't as bad as I anticipated. The hardest thing by far has been coming to terms with my postpartum body.

I'm grateful for a loving husband who cherishes me as I am. I trust him enough to believe that he means it when he tells me that I'm beautiful. I read these horrible little mommy message boards that are connected to the baby/pregnancy apps that I'd downloaded, and some of the women vent about their significant others saying some off the chain things to them about their bodies. I'm sitting there reading that stuff doing a whole lot of smh-ing, not fathoming how these chicks are not karate chopping these dudes in the throat. Entitled, insensitive little sexist jerkfaces. Ugh. Jesus I'll never forget what you done for me. For real.

Postpartum: The Great Daycare Search (Is Over)

My sweet guy is getting bigger. He's smiling now, cooing a lot, being more interactive. Had to show him off in his little Easter outfit.

One of the things I was absolutely dreading was putting him in daycare. I didn't even want to start looking, but we finally did and settled on a place that was one of the larger, more established daycares in town. Well, it was just our luck that it closed down. Not due to anything shady about the facility itself, but because the main hospital in town, which owned it, decided it wanted out of the daycare business and desired to use the building for another healthcare facility. Madness ensued. The biggest daycare in town closed down and open spots at other places became a hot commodity.

Options, quality options, were limited. Every other place we went, there was just something I wasn't comfortable with. And the thought of leaving my son somewhere I wasn't quite comfortable with made me want to curl up into a ball and cry.

But. After much prayer and tears and hand-wringing, I happened upon a home daycare in town that wasn't even advertising. It just so happened that there's a spot opening up there because a child's family is moving. It just so happens to be within walking distance of our home and of my job. It just so happens that the owner was willing to compromise with us and allow us to put him in part-time for a reduced rate now and transition to full-time when I go back to work. It's spacious, clean and comfortable. No smokers. The director has a Masters degree. Only 6 children total and one other infant. We both felt comfortable and happy with everything about it.

It's still so hard for me to trust God, in spite of everything. In spite of the way everything has worked out in my life. The things that seemed impossible, difficult or unlikely have always worked out according to God's timing. The way I met my husband. The way I went from not getting the job I originally applied for to now having a tenure-track job. The timing of my son's birth. Every time He does it, my faith is built. But what I still haven't figured out yet is how to maintain that level of faith whenever a new challenge arises.

Tomorrow we'll drop little boy off at the new home daycare for the first time. It'll only be for a few hours 3 days a week, but still, I'm struck with this sense of ambivalence I can't shake. While I'm happy to leave him somewhere I'm comfortable with, the fact remains that I'm leaving him somewhere. I'm looking forward to having a few hours alone to do things around the house and gear up for the fall, but I'm feeling weirdly guilty about looking forward to time without the baby. (Sigh.) Like anything new, I guess it'll just take some getting used to.