Monday, May 28, 2012

Happy Mem's Day


Grunty McChubberson and the Backlit Lady wish you all a happy Memorial Day.  We plus the babydaddy are going to eat food at the grand'rent's house, because that's how we do.

(P.S. For the record, I don't part and comb my 1-month-old's fantastic hair.
That's the work of a cowlick, which he inherited from his daddy.)

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Things to think when babies sleep on you


I always suspected, and now I know for sure.  Like for sure, for sure; with the same sureness that I know pancakes are better with peanut butter, and that even the cutest sweater in the world isn't worth an ounce of your time if it makes you itch.  Some things we just know about ourselves.  Even when it gets right down to the minute and you start to doubt the thing you've always known, it's still there and when you get to the other side of whatever it is you're crossing it'll smack you in the face with how much you've always known it.  And I, my friends, always suspected and now really know that I was meant to be a mother.

Not that I am now or will ever be a perfect mother.  I imagine they'll have to invent all new names for the mistakes I'll make.  But there's no denying this solid feeling in my bones, the kind of feeling you get when you realize a core truth about your life.  I'm lying here on our futon couch in our little red house with my infant son on my chest, and everything's crazy in a way I've never experienced before, and I'm still struggling to find the proper balance.  But his little face is next to mine, and I get to kiss his baby fingers and feel the weight of his warm tiny body.  It's just the best thing in the world.  He snores almost as bad as his daddy and I don't care.

From almost the moment he was born I've been seeing things differently.  I remember vividly the drive home from the hospital, feeling like the whole world was brand new.  Even this very familiar city felt unfamiliar, and strange and fresh.  Did you know that all people were babies once?  Your mailman, your boss, your spouse, strangers, millionaires, hobos, serial killers: they all started out as tiny, sweet, precious babies.  They all had soft skin and wide innocent eyes, eager to see things and learn things and love things.  They were all more precious than gold, and (hopefully) all were held by their mothers and loved so hard they could just explode.  Makes you see people in a different way, doesn't it?  It makes me want to be nicer.  And you, you were a baby too once.  So be nicer to your own mother, if she truly loved you like a mother should or even just the best was she knew how.  Cause she probably did.

I know I'm still new at this, but it's already the best thing I've ever done.  My heart is constantly hurting at the wonderfulness.  (It's 100 times more wonderful than being married, and if you know me you know how much I absolutely love being married.)

I don't know why I get to be so lucky, but I sure am grateful.