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A Peace Offering

Sorry I've been denying you your Eva fix. I have no good excuse. But I can offer you a movie. It’s got a baby AND a kitty... how much better can it get? Enjoy! (Click here.)

P.S. I owe you all a massive post about Eva’s two month birthday. It’s coming—just as soon as I figure out which of the 842 “Eva Smiling” pictures is the best one.

OhPleaseOhPleaseOhPlease...

For the last 2 nights Eva has slept from 9:30 to 6:30. That’s nine hours, people. PM to AM.

Two. Nights. In. A. Row.

I'm just saying, that's all.

Eva, She’s a Travelin’ Girl

Man, but our baby lives a crazy life. Only two short weeks ago we set out on Eva’s first weekend trip, and now here we are—packing all over again! Hard to keep up with our whirl-wind lifestyle, isn’t it?

This weekend, we’re turning our wagons North to Webster, WI where Eva’s going to visit her Daddy’s side of the family. It should be a good time—she’s been missing her Grandma and Grandpa P., and there are lot’s of Great-Aunts and Uncles she hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

This morning when I asked her if she was excited, she responded with a very enthusiastic “Ah.” I think if she could walk she’d be 10 miles down the road by now.

Maybe A Little Too Good...

So here’s the thing. I’ve got a confession. What I’m about to say is going to enrage many of you. You’ll roll your eyes, and you’ll pound your fists on the table, and you’ll shake your heads like my mother in that “I expected more out of you” way. Because I’m about to become the most annoying thing on earth: a smug mother. And not only that, I’m going to be a smug mother who knows she’s got it good, but totally doesn’t embrace it. And I won’t be offended if you stop reading right here and run away and never come back, because what I’m about to say is really, really irritating. But I’ve got to get it off my chest. Ready? Deep breaths, everyone…

Our kid? She’s too good.

Still with me? Anyone?

Ok, before you all freak out on me and wish me years and years of unbearable teenage battles to deal with (which I totally have coming), let me try to explain myself. Mike and I are lucky. We know this. Our baby is a happy baby. We’re not arrogant enough to think this has anything to do with us—we just got handed a good one, that’s all. Eva’s an even-tempered, laid-back little girl. It’s not uncommon for her to go days without really, truly crying. She’ll whimper and fuss and get a tiny bit annoyed if we wait too long to feed her or change her, but overall, she’s very content to just hang out and see what this world is all about.

This all scares the crap out of me. I’ve read the books. I’ve heard the stories. I’ve witnessed the hours of trying to console a colicky baby. I know it can be rough, caring for a newborn—I’m prepared…sort of.

When they handed Eva to me in the hospital I braced myself for the crying. Lot’s and lot’s of crying. But it never came. And now I’m afraid she’s waiting until I let my guard down, and then she’ll let loose with this wail that will continue for 3 days and I’ll be standing there in hysterics yelling “Breathe, baby, breathe!!”

And then there’s the part of me that secretly wonders if something’s wrong with her. I have to hold myself back from looking up all sorts of horrific diseases she may have. I run scenarios through my head in which a doctor shakes his head and says “She didn’t cry much? Why didn’t you mention it? If we’d only known, we could have saved her from this horrific disease.”

I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the good behavior…most of me does, and I thank Eva everyday for being such a well-behaved little girl. It’s just, I don’t think I’m wired to handle it—I’m a closet pessimist, and I’m having trouble being content with what I’ve got. Every once in a while, I find a small, secret part of my brain beginning to wish for just one tough night. You know, just so I know everything’s ok. I mean, babies are supposed to cry, right?

You know the phrase “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it"?

Yeah. I’m who that phrase was invented for.

Yet More Proof She’s Her Mother’s Daughter

Um yeah. So Eva slept through the night. The whole night. She fell asleep at 10:00 last night and woke up at 6:00 this morning. That’s eight hours.

Eight! Hours!

But I know it will never happen again. Because I wrecked it. Yep. I’ve killed the dream. After 30 seconds of bliss I realized I was sleeping in a puddle of breast milk and I had a couple of bowling balls hanging from my chest. Immediate action had to be taken.

Mike ran to get the munchkin while I tried to clean up a bit. When he lowered her into my lap, I cooed and praised her for sleeping like such a little trooper.

Then I squirted her in the eye with milk. Directly in the eye.

She gave me a look that clearly said “Oh yeah. This will happen again. Right.” What I want to know is who taught my kid sarcasm already?

I Am A Terrible Mother

This morning Mike was playing with Eva for a bit before he left for work. I had laid her down on a blanket on the floor, and Mike decided to turn her onto her belly for a little “tummy time.”

And I heard, “Eeeewwww! What’s wrong with her? What’s on her head?”

Turns out, Eva had either spit up or drooled A LOT while she was on her back, and it had been running down her cheek and completely soaking the back of her head. For real. She looked like she had just stepped out of the shower. We all had a good laugh together and Mike went on his merry way.

Here’s the thing. I haven’t figured out how to give her a bath by myself. Mike and I always tag-team bathtime because we can’t see how to hold a squirmy, wet baby while running water over her head without getting it into her eyes and really pissing her off.

So rather than jumping in and giving it a go, I’ve been avoiding eye contact with my daughter. Because she knows. She totally knows that Mama’s being a giant chicken shit and that there’s absolutely no good reason for her to be sitting there wearing her own dried spit in her hair.

Poor kid. Your Daddy will be home soon.

So Happy!

Above is a picture of the “new” Eva. This is the Eva who went to the doctor yesterday (and was very well-behaved, by the way). This is also the Eva who has a “very solid” hip. And, you guessed it…

This is the Eva who NO LONGER HAS TO WEAR THAT DUMB OLD SMELLY HARNESS!

!
!!!

I changed her outfit 3 times yesterday because it was just so darn easy—no straps to wrestle with—and Mike and I have begun fighting over who gets to change her newly oh-so-accessible diaper.

And people…yesterday? Yesterday, she wore pants.

Pants!

Lookit!

Look what the nice UPS lady brought us yesterday. Eva has the best Auntie Laura ever! Thank you!

Over the River and Through the Woods Housing Developments on I-94.

Eva is all packed up and ready to roll! She’s going on her very first trip this weekend… to Grandma and Grandpa B.’s house. It’s only a 2 hour drive, but we are going to a whole other state, I’ll have you know. This is a BIG DEAL. It should be a fun weekend—there are a lot of people who have been waiting to meet our little girl. And it’s not a moment too soon: Eva has doubled in size since yesterday. If we wait much longer to introduce her to the rest of her family, she’ll be able to sit down and have a beer with them!

Despite all our best efforts not to be “those parents,” Mike and I have pretty much packed everything Eva owns into our car, because hey, you never know when you’ll need a another toy. Or a snowsuit.

Oh yeah. This should be a piece of cake.

…And Then the Other Bootie Drops

So I’ve been warning Mike since I found out I was pregnant that I was concerned about post-partum depression. I’ve struggled with depression a bit in the past, and I tend to be an emotional person, so I was worried I would be susceptible after I had our kid. If nothing else, I expected a hefty case of the “Baby Blues.”

I’ve been doing relatively well since Eva was born. In fact, I have surprised myself with my together-ness. What I failed to realize was it was largely due to the fact that Mike was home with me for the first 4 weeks of Eva’s life. I let myself be distracted.

Last week was my first week home with Eva, and it went pretty well. I was glad when Friday rolled around, but overall, Eva and I came out better for our week spent together.

This week, something’s different. This week, I’m feeling pretty melancholy.

I’m not saying I’m laying around all day while my baby goes unfed, uncleaned, and uncomforted. I’m not saying that at all. Eva is my priority. She’s the center of my world, and as long as I’m holding her or talking to her or playing with her, I’m fine. But when she goes to sleep, when I have time alone with my thoughts, I end up very sad…and very nostalgic. I’m missing being pregnant, I’m missing my family, I’m reminiscing about my own childhood, and it’s catching me off-guard.

Yet I think much of what I’m feeling is pretty normal, and to be expected. I think part of me is holding on to my old, responsibility-free life. It’s scary enough to suddenly have an infant to care for, but it’s a whole different pack of diapers when you realize that you are the one responsible for raising this tiny little person into a functioning member of society. That’s a large, overwhelming job. I’m beginning to understand that although I became a mother when I gave birth to Eva, I still have to figure out how to be a mommy. And no one can teach you that—there are too many personal, emotional adjustments to make. Too many things to discover about yourself, by yourself.

Man, this post has taken a pretty sappy turn—apologies all around—but that’s how I’ve been feeling lately, and I want to be honest with those of you who’ve been following Mike and my adventure so far. Especially those of you who will be mommies (or daddies) yourselves soon. It’s not all blissful baby powder moments, and I want you to know that. Sometimes you get sad for no apparent reason. But it is worth it. It’s so, so worth it.

Thanks for bearing with me, everyone…stay tuned for more uplifting stories—I promise they’re on their way!

And Mom—don’t panic! I’m really ok. I promise.