15w 4d adjustment

peeking out

Before having a baby, I heard and read often about what a change it is to be saddled with an infant, what a burden. The evidence sited was the usual list of tasks that exhaust -- constant feedings and lack of sleep, the necessary constant supervision, diapering, teething, adjusting to being "strapped" to someone and losing your independence, as well as the monetary cost.

What I've learned -- what I learned instantly -- was that none of this is a burden. It's a change, sure. One thing ensures that none of these are a burden: love.

What I wasn't told was how this love is the greatest burden. The weight carried has nothing to do with how Fletcher wakes in the middle of the night, or how he explodes out of his diaper, or how we can't go to the movies without a babysitter. It has nothing to do with how his sudden (early, as usual) teething makes him irritable, or how diapers are $20 per box, or how his skin and scalp need constant pampering to avoid terrible rashes.

Love is the greatest burden because the weight of it is constant, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. This love has sharp hooks that will never come dislodged, heavy chains that will never loosen. It's hard loving someone so much. The worry for him, the need to be with him, the fear that he may be unhappy or hungry or in pain... THIS is the only burden that comes with becoming a parent.

All that stuff on the list, all those "changes" you have to adjust to? You can adjust to them. It's simple; it comes with the territory. But this love is a lot to get used to.

baby peeks at daddy

A new song I'm addicted to, "Rivers of Love" by Sarah McLachlan.

It all comes down
To leaving it all behind
And moving on
To the rivers of love
And never be lonely again...
How long have you waited?
How long 'til you drown?

14w 4d roller

It's been a big week for Fletcher.


This week? He slept through the night. As in 9:30 p.m. - 5:30 a.m. Every. Night.



This week? He's sucking his thumb. A lot. Thank you, thumb.


This week? He's crying for joy. Andy called me when I was at work and I hear this raucous crying. I asked if anything was wrong. "He's smiling," Andy said, and we both just laughed. He squealed and squealed at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason except to discover that He Has A Voice And He Knows How To Use It.


This week? He's seeing things a little more, like toys and cats and mirrors and DADDY (squeal!).

Finally, the icing on the cake... the cherry on top... the coup de grâce without the negative reference....

He's rolling over. A lot. From his back to his stomach, pretty much every time we put him on his back. Roll, stare, complain until someone knocks him over. Roll, stare, complain until someone knocks him over. Roll, stare...

14w 3d post office

So I was at the post office and there was a crazy long line, but that's like the definition of "post office." That's like post office's middle name. "Hello, I'm Post You're-Going-To-Have-To-Wait-All-Afternoon-Because-Everyone's-On-A-Super-Long-Lunch-Break Office."

The slovenly fellow (strongly resembled a woodchuck wearing dishrags) who entered two people after me had obviously never been introduced to the Post Office's full legal name. He also had a number of other problems.

I'm fairly certain everyone in that room was a stranger to him, but that didn't stop him from greeting us all conversationally with, "Well, I see our government is hard at work."

Um. Yeah. We all know the type. He immediately followed that brilliant declaration with, "Yeah, and they want to take over health care, too. I'm sure they'll do a GREAT job." You could hear the pride he had in wielding his weaponized sarcasm.

So within 15 seconds of first laying eyes on woodchuck-man, we were treated as though we were his confidants (or followers?), as though this sort of spontaneous politicizing of an average moment was acceptable or expected.

After all, the ten (or so) of us in the room really wondered how he felt about government-run health care, and we were so readily convinced by his facts and rationale and calm, un-provoking manner. (See! I have sarcasm, too!)

Something so commonplace shouldn't bother me. And it really didn't, except that it stayed with me, which is much more acknowledgment than any Slovenly-Political-Genius deserves.

The worst part was the man who stood between me and Mr. Brilliant. He immediately assumed the role that was ascribed to him by the loudmouth. How often are we guilty of it? When the loudmouth starts spouting his ideals in a manner that says, "Right? Don't you agree?" how often do we nod and chuckle kindly to cover our discomfort and disagreement?

What I do, the best I can do, is pretend the guy isn't speaking at all.

When the loudmouth made a few more ignorant comments, the man between us compromised by quietly saying, "Not a happy camper, eh?"

Eh.

So what's the right response?