RUNNING UP THAT HILL

Life is a treadmill and I haven't quite found my stride. Of course, it's not a real treadmill because I am still rocking a whole bunch of post-baby pudge. I'm about to sing a song that a million other women sing every day to themselves. They chant the same monotone tune as they make their daily rounds. They hum with me, and under their breath sing "I miss my baby, I miss my husband, I miss my freedom, I miss my body, I love my life" again and again.

In the earliest hours I wake up to Echo hooting softly from her crib. Homegirl is usually starving and nurses like she has never nursed before. She's 11 lbs now, and 3.5 months. A skinny string bean baby, usually she only wakes up once to eat around 4 am, but lately she'll throw in a second round at 5 just for fun. I wonder if she just wants me to hold her a little bit more. I miss you too, E.

Around 7 am, if I'm lucky, the hooting begins again. I am greeted by a huge smile as Echo lays there looking at her hands and feet stuck straight in the air. The smiles are the best. They change her entire face, and I think she got her daddy's fantastic grin along with everything else. She is so exuberantly alive in the early morning. Glowing almost. I feed her and change her and we hang out for a bit before I wake Jared up and hand her over. I get ready for the day, prepare Echo's bottles, and run in to smooch those cheeks every 2-3 minutes.

Work, where I keep a part-time job of carefully saving milk in small plastic baggies.

After work, I spend a solid 30 minutes kissing the baby and playing with her on the couch. Zoom her around to play airplane. Clock some tummy time. Grill Jared about his day. I am starving for them, But by 7 Echo is ready for bed. Rock her and nurse her. One arm swings wildly. Fretting commences. She holds my hand close to her face like a tiny gypsy palm-reading. She knits her brow and sucks her paci furiously, she grunts and moans. She passes out and I put her into her crib.

Laundry or bust. Clean all the pump parts. Clean up from dinner. Who even knows where the vacuum is. Try and catch up, try and catch up, try and catch up. For once I'm actually separating the colors from the whites, mainly because there's so much of both why not. Oh we have a dog? Oh yes, hi Gill I remember you. No you may not have Sophie the Giraffe.

Is this boring? It's life. It's real. I miss blogging but I can't find the right place for it yet. Isn't motherhood supposed to turn me into one of those mommy bloggers? I am really trying.Not for the mommy blog thing, I think that just happens no matter what. I am so happy. I don't want to miss out. I feel guilt. I feel peace. I feel fulfillment and emptiness at the same time. The working mom song. Can someone please teach me the right tune?

MOTHERS DAY AND WORKING OUTSIDE THE NEST

I have a lot to write. I took it easy these past 3 months, powering through the dreaded/lauded/terrifying/spiritual/uplifting/butt-kicking/endlessly lovely "fourth trimester." Echo and I. We conquered breast feeding, gas pains, bed time and a tight little 3 hour schedule. My little family conquered a first plane ride and a second, Washington DC, solo date nights, baby wearing, stroller walking and recently spit bubble blowing.

And then it was Mother's Day and the capstone to my 3 month maternity leave. My last day as a full time stay at home mama. What a joke, right? And it was so hard. It is hard. I got my freak outs out of the way (for now) and I truly enjoy my job, but good grief. The band-aid method is a hard one. I feel like I have a phantom limb. An achey feeling in my arms and my heart. I have not worn eyemakeup in 5 days. But again and again I feel the whisper in my heart and mind that I can choose. I can choose to be miserable or cheerful. I can choose to be proud of myself for providing for my family, choose to flex and use my brain working outside the home, choose to even enjoy my baby free hours, knowing she is well taken care of. Or I can choose depression and ingratitude and misery. So I am working on it. When I climb the stairs, hauling a breast pump 3 times a day I work on it. And when I get a frantic text from Jared that she will. not. nap. I am working on it. And when I go home and my baby snuggles me, really snuggles her mama, I am working on it.