I don’t know how consistent I can promise to be in writing down the minutiae of your early days (I will get that baby book out of its plastic box and start writing in it at some point, I swear), but I will try. Today you are one week old. I am still in complete awe that my body was able to turn you from an embryo to a fetus to a tiny little dude who’s here. I’m even more amazed that I was able to get you out of me, keeping both of us in our respective one pieces, and that we appear to be sufficient caregivers and are keeping you pretty happy, even, so far. I can see now why my brain was smart enough to stop me from realizing or admitting that being a mom was something I actually, truly wanted. For so long I was so afraid that I would never get the chance to do this, and I had to hold onto the idea that if it never happened I would still be okay. I know I would have been, but I have to admit that this is so much better. Much better than I ever dared to imagine. Sigh. I can’t say that we know much about you yet, but I am very much looking forward to all the fun that’s yet to come. I’m so happy that you aren’t too good to be true after all.
Best. week. ever. Let’s do it again, shall we?