New Motherhood by the Numbers

• 2 – number of times in the past week I’ve been asked when my baby’s due
• 0 – number of times the "when’s your little miracle due?" question upset me, because dude, I was outside the house when it occurred and any day I’m outside the house among adults is a hard day to ruin (plus, if people are brave enough to ask me that question then it means I just have a fat belly, which is to be expected after it stretched out to such an ungodly circumference, and I won’t start feeling bad about it still being there unless it is when the baby starts talking, so there)
• 1 – number of times I cried this week
• 2 – number of hours of sleep I average per 24 hour period, which explains the tears
• 6 – number of living souls in my house right now
• 4 – number of living souls asleep in my house right now
• 1 – number of living souls lecturing me to go to sleep right now (that would be my mother)
• 2 – number of minutes that I would actually be asleep (should I be so foolish as to attempt a nap) before the baby’s sixth sense of when his mother is just dropping into the heaven of unconsiousness would kick in, and he would begin to cry, and may I tell you that as miserable as it is to contiue to stay up after staying up for four days straight, a much worse feeling is having to drag yourself back from the edge of sleep when it’s the thing you need most in the world
• 1 – number of pounds my baby has gained in his first 10 days of life, which is a lot, which at least means these feedings every hour or so are not going to waste, thank heavens
• 1 – number of yeast infections my baby has on his tongue, which looks like a white plush carpet, and apparently tastes like one too because he keeps giving me puzzled looks and making the "I have a yucky fuzzy tongue" clicking noise with his mouth that I tend to make when dreadfully hungover
• 1 – number of breasts of mine that got infected in the past week, leading to a fever, massive headache, aching body, and the ouchiest boobie in the history of ouchie boobies (I managed to get rid of it without antibiotics, it looks like, so let’s hope it doesn’t come back)
• 1 – number of conversations I have had with my husband this week that had nothing to do with Jack – it was all about our future once his degree is done, and it was very positive, and I felt like me again for a few moments, which was nice

In all, after 12 days of motherhood, I have to say that I still love it.  I still love him.  One of my girlfriends suffered from such deep and wretched PPD that she asked her husband if she could just smother their baby, and I am very glad that I’m not of that state of mind (her husband very wisely and caringly whisked her off to a doctor, and she is undergoing treatment and feeling much better, and once our kid is 2 weeks old <the minimum age really, for leaving the house safely> I am going to try to get her out of the house as much as I can).  I wouldn’t trade this for all the world.  But I am feeling the relentlessness of the sleep deprivation, and wishing I could just take a 5 hour break, please dear Jack jack?  After 2 weeks is a good time to intro the bottle, and I am pumping away to make sure we got us some bottles in the fridge so I can hand over nighttime feedings to Daddy for a night or two and get me some rest.  Only a couple more days to go til then.  I can do it.  My eyes may be sunken into the back of my skull and my skin looks like ass, but I can do it.

And without further ado – the baby is crying.  Gotta go.