It’s been real.
We’ve spent about the last year together, you and me. Albeit, most of that time was in utero, and I feel like I am just starting to know you.
In two weeks you will be four months old and I will be returning to work. To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about it. On the one hand, I enjoy the work I do and I’ll admit, it will be nice to spend a part of my day with adults who can speak in full sentences again. And on the other hand, my heart breaks when I think about this time together ending. Isn’t motherhood funny that way? One minute we want a break, and when we get one, all we can think or talk about is our kids?
My maternity leave has been so different this time around than when your sister was born. I spent the better half of my leave then depressed out of my mind, mostly because my hormones were out of whack and I wasn’t sleeping, but also in part because I am a little crazy. Don’t get me wrong – I loved your sister from the beginning. But becoming a new mom is disorienting to say the least, and I don’t exactly thrive on change mixed with two hours of sleep.
With you, I was much more relaxed. I learned to watch you, and not the clock, to tell me when you were tired or hungry. Instead of being a prisoner at home, you and I went out, A LOT. Did you know between the hours of 10 AM and 1 PM, all retail shopping areas become Strollerville? I know this because I am a big believer in 1) getting out of the house after having a baby and 2) retail therapy. A new top or eyeliner or onesie or socks can kind of make up for not sleeping the night before. Or the night before that. Also, Target is the mommy mecca.
In your first two weeks of life, you tricked us. All you did was eat and sleep as most brand-new newborns do, and we told everyone, “He’s much easier than his sister was!” You sure fooled us. You’ve had good weeks and bad weeks, as all humans do, vacillating between easiest and fussiest baby of all time. I’ve now concluded that you’re actually neither; you’re just a baby. But you are fantastic because you are mine.
In the last week, you’ve learned to laugh. On your 100th day of life (which is significant because you’re Korean), you laughed for the first time. You smiled before then, but you laughed. You laughed on our trip to NorCal and it was amazing (which is also significant because the day we returned you and your sister decided to drive me insane – another fun/funny fact about motherhood). Now we know if we want to get you to laugh, we can either blow raspberries on your tummy or scare the crap out of you.
Tonight I was putting you down for bed, and I just watched you sleep. Not in a creepy stalker way, but in a sweet motherly way, with one tear falling slowly from my cheek. You looked so perfect, as do most children when they are sleeping. And I know as I get closer to returning to work, this one tear will turn into many tears. I’m going to miss you, kid.
But hey, you’re getting bigger, and that’s something to celebrate, right? A full night of sleep is just on the horizon, right? Maybe for Christmas?