Not Enough Baby to Go Around

Throughout most of my pregnancy, especially the last two god-awful months when I could do nothing but complain and sit around trapped under my own girth, and the first 8 weeks or so of Milo's ex-utero existence, I wondered how on earth people have more than one child. I calculated that I had just spent the bulk of an entire year suffering a nice variety of misery - some physical, some mental, some just hormonal - and couldn't fathom ever going through this process again.

And then the Milo of the last few weeks arrived - a smiley baby who has passionate likes (the mobile above his crib, the book Mirror Me, his new friend the bouncy-seat starfish) and passionate dislikes (being put down for naps, breastfeeding, hats) - and suddenly there simply isn't enough Milo to go around. Which means that quite frequently either Steven or I will be performing some baby-related task like changing his diaper (likes) or bathing him (has to be reminded that he likes) while the other person stands nearby and simply marvels at the fact that we have created something so ridiculously cute. Which of course is a massive waste of time, particularly when non-baby time is so precious. We both know that there are plenty of bother, better things we could be doing as opposed to booping Milo's nose while the other person changes his diaper, but it's almost like Milo has some sort of magnetic pull that keeps both parents firmly rooted to his side.

Unless he's crying. At which point I have to repeat silently to myself "it's not his fault, it's not his fault, he's just a baby, it's not his fault" in order to keep myself from throwing him in the crib and walking out of the apartment.

This weird push/pull whenever one enters Milo's orbit has been going on for quite a while now - "Can't live with him, can't live without him," my mother said the other day - and I'm begining to wonder if it's just what being a parent is about. Here is this entity that is totally your creation, that sometimes seems to be the most marvelous being on earth, except when he's the bane of your existence and you wonder if it would really be all that bad to just hand him off to a passing stranger.

When I was pregnant people were always busy congratulating me and saying things like "oh it's so exciting!!" Now that I have a newborn I find most people approach me slowly, put an arm around my shoulder and whisper, "How are you holding up?" Being a parent is HARD. Being tired is hard. Being under the spell of a twelve-week-old baby is ridiculous. And yet, I can't wait to see what he's going to be like next week.