First Time Mom

I have the cutest baby in probably the entire world.  Or at least on all of facebook.  She’s also the smartest, the funniest, the happiest, the most full of personality, and she is reaching her physical milestones quicker than every other baby, I’m sure.

I’m a first time mom – can you tell?

As the youngest sibling in my family, I’d been around long enough before having my own children to see what first time moms looked like, and even more to hear how people joked about first time moms.  New parents always think their child is “so advanced”, a prodigy, even.  I vowed long ago that I would never be “that mom”.  I’d know enough not to make a fool of myself as I gushed about my baby’s physical, social, and cognitive development.  Plus, I graduated with a degree in Human Development, so I’ve learned all about this developmental stuff and that should keep me grounded and give me a leg up on all these other flighty mothers who think their very average baby is something special.

But I was so wrong.

If anything, my academic background makes me that much worse.  I tell my husband at least once a week that I learned all about this in my class and she is way ahead of schedule for [insert milestone here].  Cognitively and rationally, I know that my baby is well within the range of normal, and that other babies’ little coos and squeals are just as delightful as hers.  But in my heart of hearts I truly believe that no other baby comes close to comparing with mine in terms of adorable-ness.  I see other moms post about their children on facebook and I feel genuinely confused that they would think their son or daughter could come close to being called cute when sat side-by-side with my enchanting little girl.

I know, I’m terrible. 

Even posts about the trouble or grief a child might cause doesn’t set my new mom mind at ease.  Your baby’s not napping as long as he should?  Well, come to my house and try getting through a night with my little one.  You think your child’s being fussy today and not letting you get anything done?  Think again, Mommy.

This way of thinking is irrational, I’m aware.  How can my daughter simultaneously be both the greatest bundle of joy to ever grace the Earth and the biggest trial one should ever be made to endure?  Because my baby is mine, which automatically makes her the most anything a baby can be.

There’s a problem, though.  A problem currently growing inside my belly, for surely baby #2 is also going to be the brightest, sweetest, and most darling creature I and you and anyone has ever beheld.  And currently my brain – already burdened with the task of overcoming logic and reason to make room for all the superlative assertions I hold about my baby girl – cannot reconcile the idea of two cutest-babies-in-the-world.

But I’m just an inexperienced first time mom.  I suppose that will have to remain a problem for a second time mom, one even more experienced in the art of unabashed bias.  

To My Baby

This morning, you slept in my arms.

When I heard you cry, I was a little disappointed at the early hour; I was hoping you’d sleep in a little later.  I quickly realized, though, as I sat with you on the couch that you weren’t ready to wake up either, so you peacefully closed your eyes and drifted back to sleep, wrapped in my arms.

As a new mom, I was so concerned about getting you on a schedule and making sure you knew your bassinet was for sleeping that slumbering cuddles quickly became a thing of the past.
But this morning, nine months from the time we really cracked down on solo sleeping, I held you once again, and watched you sleep so serenely. 

I noticed immediately how much you’d changed since the last time we’d cuddled like this.  Your little body isn’t quite as little as it once was, and your feet dangled well over the edge of my lap.  Your hair is coming in thicker, but lighter than when you were a newborn.  Your eyelashes are darker; your neck is more defined; and your sweet hands no longer clasp onto mine reflexively. 

Still, I can trace the same folds in your ears; your lower lip hangs in an adorably pouty manner as it always has; and your soft cheeks are still plump and kissable. 

Though I really should have laid you back in your crib and gotten another hour of sleep, myself, I cherished the moment I had with you.  See, in a few short months, we’re going to have another baby in the house and you, all of a sudden, will no longer seem quite so baby-ish.  You’re going to be walking, maybe talking, and, hopefully, fully sleeping through the night. 

The truth is, we didn’t plan to have a second little one only 14 months after you.  Your little brother came as a surprise.  The moment I learned of his coming, I felt some sorrow knowing that you wouldn’t be my baby, my only baby for very much longer.  In that instant, and maybe for the next few days, I took the time to memorize your cherubic face, to relish your new laugh, and delight in your every move.  But soon after, the worry and fear of having two babies overcame me, and I spent my time wishing you’d grow up a little faster.  I didn’t know how to handle having two babies – I often still feel overwhelmed by one.  Suddenly, I needed you sleeping through the night because I sure couldn’t handle the sleep deprivation of two little ones waking me for night feedings.  I hoped you’d be walking, and walking well because I didn’t think I could carry an infant and an almost toddler up to our third floor apartment multiple times a day.  I even wondered if you could potty-train a 14-month-old because who wants to be changing two sets of diapers and running the risk of two blowouts with any lengthy car ride?

So I worried about you not growing up fast enough, encouraging you to reach each new milestone quicker and quicker.  Of course, seeing your development made me worry about you growing up too quickly.  I worried about missing the magical moments in every stage.  I worried about worrying.

And I’m still worried.  I don’t know what the future holds, and that’s hard for me.  I don’t know what this new baby will be like, and I don’t know where you’ll be at by the time he comes. 

But this morning, it didn’t matter.  This morning, I reminded myself, to slow down just a little more, and to take a few more pictures once you awoke.  This morning, from 6 until 7, I held you and studied you like a mother does, and you were my baby still. 

A New Me, A New Blog

My last post on this blog was almost three years ago.

Three years ago, I was in my fourth semester at BYU-Idaho; I was living with roommates; I was skyping my soon-to-be fiance several times a week; I was pining away the hours for him in between studying to be an elementary school educator, getting into all sorts of shenanigans with wonderful friends, and photo-documenting the whole thing.

Today, I am married to that pine-worthy man; we have one adorable and lively 10-month old daughter, and one baby boy due in January; we are now living in Provo, Utah where the hubby is in his final year of undergrad for Mechanical Engineering, where I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Human Development, and where I now stay home with my sweet baby girl.  Most of the pictures I take these days are of her, and they rarely get uploaded to share on facebook or even printed for a scrapbook.

Today, I got up at 7:09 with that baby girl and thanked my lucky stars that I'd already been able to get in a shower before she and my husband woke for the day; I kept her entertained, and washed dishes, and tidied the house, and took her in the stroller to go meet Daddy on campus for lunch.

My life is so different from what it once was.  Some of the changes I am grateful for.  Some I still find myself dreading from day-to day.  I'm still trying to find where I fit into my own life, and I'm hoping that taking up writing again will help me do just that.

No more will this blog be just an attempt at a humorous travelogue.  For now, it will be a mix of updates and ponderings, of comedy and tragedy and emotion.

I feel as though I'm no longer the college girl that would have stated the line that is my blog name.  I guess, then, that makes me the college-going mom the title references.