Nicholas is six months old. He is a joy, he is a delight, he is my life. If you ask me how I'm doing, I'll typically give you the run-down of Nicholas' latest accomplishments and activities. As soon as I wake up, I listen to the baby monitor to determine whether he is awake too. If I don't hear him, I worry whether he is still breathing.
My dreams revolve around scenarios where, for some reason, I have forgotten him somewhere, I can't reach him, I can't feed him, or in some way I can't care for him. This is the stuff of nightmares for me.
I have gone out on dates with my husband, leaving Nicholas in the capable hands of my parents, and spent most of the time reminiscing of how amazing he is, and how joyful our life is with him. I've been keeping him with me at church instead of dropping him off at the nursery, because I love the soft feel of his downy head against my lips and I am intoxicated by his baby scent. The few times I have left him with the wonderful caretakers at the YMCA, I mourn the hour lost where I didn't actively play with him, and worry that he was lonely or bored just sitting in a swing.
Nicholas has about an hour and a half window where he is awake and cheerful. Press the end of that time and he starts to get tired and fussy. So any errand, grocery shopping, lunch date, exercise, etc, has to fit within that hour-and-a-half window or I start to feel like a bad mother. The times where I have pushed off his nap, or assumed he would just nap in the car or on a walk and he ended up missing his nap, I feel like a bad mother.
When he naps, I catch up on housework and phone calls, emails and bills. But a significant part of my time is spent looking at pictures of him, or writing about him, or talking to others about Nicholas. Andy and I cherish the time we have together once Nicholas goes down for the night, but a lot of the conversation is about funny things Nicholas did, or his latest development, and centers on the joy that he has brought to our lives.
My best friends now are those who also have babies. We have so much fun comparing stories and making over each others' babies. We love discussing diaperbags and high chairs rather than shoe sales or clothing styles. We worry over the latest safety concerns and our babies meeting the next developmental milestones.
I watched a movie yesterday called Motherhood, starring Uma Thurman, in which she portrays a mother of two who struggles to keep her identity as a writer, wife and friend alive in the all consuming midst of motherhood. I resonated with some aspects of the movie, but I am still in the honeymoon stage of motherhood, and rather relish being consumed by it. At some point I'm sure Nicholas will grow more independent--off to preschool or the like, and I'll struggle to fill the void left in his absence, but for now, I like being hooked on my baby. So what if I'm a boring mom who can't discuss politics and world events but would rather talk about baby food and high-chairs. Yes, he is my life, and because of Nicholas, my life is filled with joy.
