Speaking of princesses, Daddy gave you a blessing in church the other day and you should SEE the dress you got to wear. Grandma D bought it for Mama to wear 26 years ago, and you looked stunning in it. Look, I'll prove it to you:
Don't tell your Nana, but I let you go to church barefoot because you don't fit into shoes yet. Plus, cutest feet ever.
You are beautiful and I love you. My heart nearly explodes when I see you smile, which you're getting better at every day. Daddy and I cannot believe how blessed we are to have you. There are no words.
Here's the deal, though, darling. Someday I hope you will be a mom, too, and I want to be honest with you. Being your mother is wonderful, and it's hard.
For example, having you sort of hurt. The day after you were born, I made Daddy accompany me to a breastfeeding class that ended up starting 45 minutes late, and they made me sit on a metal folding chair. For an hour and a half. Without you. And here's this nurse groping her own breast and going on and on talking in a way that would've been fabulous if we were three years old. (We're not.) And then, when I was nearly in tears because it hurt (remember? Only 27 hours since I pushed you out) that nurse looks at me and she says in her sickeningly sweet little voice, "oh honey, does your bottom hurt?" with a little smile. And Bug, I'm telling you right now, if I hadn't had an exam glove filled with entirely melted ice sloshing aroung in my mesh underwear, I would've killed her right on the spot.
See what I mean? Hard.
Also, babies poop a lot. There's a lot of diaper changing going on around here, and let me let you in on a little secret. You are a pro at waiting until the exact instant I am switching from dirty diaper to clean and WHAM! You pee. And It. Goes. Everywhere. This necessitates a bath and a change of clothes. You're not big on having your clothes changed. (Consider refraining from peeing all over them, maybe?) A little funny when you're reading about it, I guess, but in real life? Hard.
And nursing? I'm happy to do it for you because it's healthy and all. And really, we're getting pretty good at it now. But you're six weeks old, and honey, that means Mama's nipples have been sore for a long time. Just saying.
(Side note: the word nipples has now appeared in two of the last 3 blog posts. I'm not sure how I feel about that, and I'm sorry.)
You have a gassy tummy in the evenings, and it gives you a tummy ache until you fart about a million times. It breaks my heart to hear you cry when your belly hurts. Your daddy is so patient, and he rocks you for hours without ever getting mad. It's only fair, really, since I think you get it from him, but still. It's hard, Bug. I haven't eaten Mexican food or enjoyed a Dr. Pepper since you were born, all for the sake of your little tummy. That's hard, too.
Please do not misunderstand me. There is nothing in the world that compares to having you. I am exactly where I want to be. I just wanted you to know that someday when you are a new mom and you are tired and you haven't showered in a couple of days and brushing your teeth is an accomplishment and your laundry is full of poop and you are frustrated, you are not alone. Every mom and dad feel this way sometimes, including yours. Because it's hard.
And somehow I think I love you more not in spite of it, but because of it. I put you into your bed at night and pull the door shut and climb into bed with Daddy, and I'm so tired. I hurt and I think I can't possibly wake up to feed you one more time. Daddy holds me in his arms while I fall asleep and then, hours later when you cry out, I am somehow ready and happy to do it again. It's not because I'm strong or brave. It's because in the dark your eyes are black pools against your pale skin and your tiny hands are waiting for me and I can barely imagine that Heavenly Father loves me enough to let me feel this way.
I love you, Bug. I love you to the moon and back again.