Helllllllooooo, baby close up.
That’s right, friends, The Squishy has arrived. Thus far, the world hasn’t come to an end, so I’m hoping my brother’s prediction that I was carrying the Anti-Christ was slightly inaccurate … or at least that we have until she hits puberty.
Ah yes, you heard that correctly. She. The Squishy is a baby girl. Please know that I’m trying to hold back the urge to yak all over the pink explosion that has come to my house. We intentionally didn’t know the sex of the baby so we could hold off the gendered color coding as long as possible. That lasted, oh, a day after she was born. I try to temper all the pepto pink with blue rocket ship crib sheets and Beatles onesies. Though, I won’t lie, it’s mucho bueno to not have to explain my fascination with putting bows and clips and assorted other accoutrements into this child’s crazy hair. I’d still totally do it if she were a boy. I’d just have a lot more ‘splainin’ to do.
So that makes me someone’s mother. (gag …) I still can’t say that word out loud. Remember how long it took me to say the word pregnant out loud? Yea, same problem with this one. I am having a terrible time. I don’t call myself any of those familiar maternal names. I cringe a little when other people do. I’m still adjusting to the idea. I know, I know, I had 9 months (ok, TEN MONTHS!) to get used to the idea, but I never got around to it, ok? I’m working through it. Or trying to.
The Squishy has been here almost 3 weeks. She was born in the early morning on the last day of January, giving her 1/18 due date the proverbial finger. She weighed in at a perfectly respectable 8lbs, 4.40z rather than the 198lbs the OBs kept predicting. I was in labor forever, approximately. I will most certainly regale you of that story in the near future.
In the mean time, I’ll be in and out spending my days surfing my Google Reader from my phone while feeding a hilarious face-making baby at 4am, changing 1 million wet (cloth! duh.) diapers, and trying to acclimate to my new reality. I’ll be back …