My “baby” is 13 months old today. One year ago, I was still suffering mightily from the episiotomy and all of the muscle strain I experienced carrying a baby for 40 weeks and then pushing all 7 pounds and 12.5 ounces of her out of my lady parts. Happily, I had DVRed episodes of Conan O’Brien every morning to take the sting off of my all night nursings and the exhaustion that resulted. DAMN YOU, NBC and Jay Leno!
I’m thinking a lot about her newborn time as my friend Sara (http://eyesofmyeyes.wordpress.com) approaches her due date next week. I remember that last week of pregnancy well. She knows on an intellectual level that her life is about to change, but she has no idea how much. No one does until it happens.
I’ve been pretty useless lately. C- for housework. A solid B for babyrearing. C- for wifeness. F for blogging. I rarely sit down to the computer, and if I do, I experience what’s happening now. Baby V is coming over to me, grabbing my lap and crying “Up! Up! Up!” because she wants to be picked up. If I pick her up, she’ll say “Nummy!” and grab at my boobs. So then I’m nursing her for a few minutes, then she wants back down so she can run around, repeat 100 times a day. So I tell her “No, I’m not going to pick you up right now” and I’ve effectively taught her to say “No.” She goes around to all the things she’s not supposed to touch and demonstrates her understanding: Touches trashcan and announces “NO!” with a big smile. You get the idea. TODDLER.
Nothing is more fun than playing with the stuff out of the kitchen cabinets and drawers. I replaced the utensils in these drawers with her toys and she doesn’t touch them.
Today is Tuesday, but it’s like Monday because yesterday was Memorial Day. I have to pay the rent at the bank and while I’m out, I figure I’ll swing by the grocery store. The diet is a bust. I’m doing just awful. I do not have the motivation to bloom. I’m not sure I would even if I found myself in the position I described (death, desertion, divorce – the three Ds). I might just settle in with tubs of cheese and shrug, THIS IS MY LIFE.
I predict my family and I will do some swimming and lounging over the summer. I have never put on a suit and swum with the crowd, always preferring to hide it away. This year I want to swim, so I have to get it in gear. Sigh. It sounds wretched. Eating food I hate, exercising, drinking water instead of Diet Coke. No wonder I don’t have the motivation! It’s going to be hot this summer, and I’m tired of being the sweaty fat girl. In fact, I am no longer a “girl” and am in danger of becoming the sweaty, fat old lady.
Now that V is 13 months, the “baby weight” excuse is wearing, well, THIN (irony). Time to either do something about it or accept that this is what I look like and stop trying to change.