She was born on May 17 at 9:17pm. She weighed 8 lbs 5 oz, has a mess of hair, big adorable feet, my mouth, and the rest of her face is all daddy. We can already tell that she’s going to be a total brat when she doesn’t get her way and her toddler years may be atrocious, but we’ll probably just call her “sassy”. She’s got us whipped like that.
She turned out to be more of a monkey than a gummy bear, but we’ll keep the name for now.
Mike stayed home with us for the first two weeks and that was a lot like a really long lazy Sunday spent in bed together, except there was no sex and lots of baby cuddles.
This week marks my first week alone with Gummy. Day 1 (yesterday) went smoothly and I haven’t taken up day drinking yet, so I would say that it’s going well at this point. Unfortunately today, she does not want to sleep anywhere but in my arms, so I am letting her sleep on my chest while I blog on the laptop. It’s working out splendidly. To be honest, I really wanted to blog and I was willing to try to do that by any means. Moms have to get some time in for things that make them who they are as a person. I haven’t even been on WP in weeks and I was starting to get the itch. I’ve wanted to catch up on blogs and write one of my own, but just haven’t found the time. For a bit, I didn’t have anything I wanted to say. I was afraid that I might be losing my sense of humor and that I might have to take a completely depressing direction with this whole mommy blogger thing, but it turns out that it was just Baby Blues. I’ve struggled to feel like me again and that’s hard to do between bouts of crying for no reason.
One awful day I cried because of a conversation with my 9 yr old Mini-Me about the book Black Beauty. I haven’t read it. I bought her a shortened version out of the $1 bin at Target. She told me that the story was about a horse that was abused and that there was also a woman who loved the horse. She said there was a dream where the horse belonged to the woman and was never hurt again. I asked if the dream was the woman’s dream or the horse’s. She told me that it was Black Beauty’s dream.
: insert a bawling hormonal mother here :
Mike had to ask her to leave the room because she didn’t understand what the hell was wrong with me. Mike assured me that she got the storyline a little twisted, but that didn’t matter. Let’s just say we don’t speak of Black Beauty in this house and I officially hate shortened versions of classic books from Target.
Just when Mike was starting to watch for clues of postpartum depression (and I as well, I’m afraid), I was feeding Gummy at 3am yesterday morning and got the urge to write. A serious urge that almost led me to get out the computer, but the urge to go back to sleep won me over instead. Thank goodness, because I don’t know what some of you guys would do if I never blogged again. Or even worse, only blogged about my therapy sessions.
I’m still working on feeling completely back to normal, but I’m most of the way there. Just don’t talk about abused horses with dreams of a happier life, ok?