Momhood at a Year

I've been under no illusions that parenthood is a walk in the park.  Since Jason and I were later to the baby-having game than nearly everyone else in our lives, we've had a front row seat as sisters and close friends have navigated the treacherous waters between Dual Income, No Kids and parenthood in all its glory.  We knew it would be hard.  We knew we would be tired.  We knew it would be forever.  We knew everything.would.change.

But no amount of knowing prepares you for doing it.

I have one kid.  He's a great kid, too--cheerful, naps like a champ, applauds when I come home from work.  And still today I found myself spinning like a top.  I made breakfast.  I scrubbed tomatoes (which were apparently not on Henry's Top Ten list today) off the floor on my hands and knees.  I changed the sheets and did two loads of laundry.  I danced to Veggie Tales music.  I organized a girls' night out.  I made baked oatmeal for a playdate, and then I was at least 17 minutes late to pick up Dawn and co. for said playdate.  I packed a lunch.  I failed to pack extra clothes for Henry and therefore strapped him into his carseat wearing only a hoodie and a diaper after he gloriously peed through his overalls.  I consulted on a press release.  I sewed burp cloths for a friend and wrapped her shower gift.  I read "Peek-a-Hoo" three times and "Alice in Wonderland" at least twice.  I responded to requests for meetings next week.  I made a lot of animal sounds.  I kissed and consoled a head bumped against the coffee table and the floor and the grass.  I made dinner.  I cleaned the bathrooms and swept the floor (again).  I completely stopped what I was doing three times during the day to nurse a baby.

And at 4 o'clock, I grabbed a magazine, a glass of water, and the baby monitor and just.about.sat.down on the deck...and, just like has happened nearly every one of the past 354 days, Henry woke up.  I was exhausted.  And I only have one kid.

As we close in on the one year mark of parenthood, though, I was reflecting today on how far Jason and I have come as parents.  I would have been horrified, for example, to strap a pant-less Henry into his car seat last summer, and it really wasn't that long ago that it took an entire week, not a morning, to finish two loads of laundry.  When Henry was first born, I wanted to cry at the thought that I might never eat a hot meal again, but these days I don't even notice if my dinner is still warm when I sit down to it.  Today I nursed Henry in the car without a second thought and pulled a binky out of my bag at precisely the right moment.  And tonight Jason, Henry, and I sat together on the deck and ate salmon zucchini, and quinoa like a real family.

I watch my sisters juggle three kids each, and while they don't necessarily make it look easy, they pull it off beautifully.  But it is hard.  But it is good, too.  Harder than the old life, but the colors are deeper and truer and richer.  Even if I am so tired I can barely crawl up the stairs to take out my contacts.