I guess I should have seen it coming. Now that I have a little family member, one who is practically another limb, I am slowly accepting the fact that I will never really have free time again. At least not for 18 years...lol...but seriously...
So I ask myself now, nine days later, why would I have expected my birthday to be any different? The little one managed to keep me busy for nearly the entire day, and when he did go down to sleep, I was fortunate to be able to catch up on my online job. Whhoooee! I sure know how to have a good time. I guess I've already had the funeral and service for the wild days of my youth and am moving into a brief period of mourning. For starters, when am I going to get my writing done?! Anyone who says that being a mother is not a full time job is sadly mistaken, and I only have one small child! I can only imagine the hectic life of a woman with multiple little ones scurrying around. Thank God for my husband, who watched over the little dude for two hours on Saturday, during which time I hurried off to a coffee shop, typed out 3,000 words at the pace of the Flash, and hurried back home before it was feeding time again. Note that I did leave a bottle of milk, just in case. Also note that the little stinker managed to finish off all 4 ounces of the pumped milk before I got back home and harassed my husband with his sad little hunger screams for about 5 minutes before I pulled back into the driveway. See, even when I plan it out well, it seems that I'm still doing it wrong, and the little guy is still not satisfied. At least I was able to feel the satisfaction of getting a few pages of fresh writing on my latest novel, something I hadn't had the opportunity to do for several weeks. (It's been 200 words here and there when the little guy is sleeping, or, if I'm feeling up for juggling my laptop and a baby, when he's eating.)
Ho-hum. Anyway, yes, I did still celebrate my birthday with my friends. Two days late, but it did happen, and that's what matters. A dinner out at a restaurant during which I had to huddle in the bathroom and feed my always-hungry son again. And the waitress couldn't honor the free birthday dinner since it was two days late, despite the fact that I explained I was alone with a needy child recovering from a little cold that day (the downside of my husband's job is that he is occasionally out of town for the week, like for my birthday...awesome). But I am beginning to accept this as my new life. Nothing is what I expect anymore. For example, I can no longer expect to go to town without some sort of spit-up/milk/poo combo on my clothing...or expect to get through errands without my child attracting attention with his spontaneous screams, making me cringe and look like an awful mother as I hustle off to feed him before he gets any louder.
It's not all bad, though. In fact, I love the tiny dude to bits; it's a crazy feeling that you seriously can't imagine until you have a baby of your own. (Trust me on this...it's like the feeling that you would rather die than have the baby feel any discomfort; now THAT is crazy, but it's motherhood.) Take this moment, for example. I had to run a couple of errands downtown, but I still managed to cart the little guy around in his stroller without any cries yet- and it's been over an hour! Little dude is even smiling in his stroller as I drink the latte I managed to grab! It's the little things.
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