My in-laws are coming to visit today. I really like my husband's family--they are very kind, generous, and supportive.I spent the weekend at home with my baby. As I work full time and breastfeed, my daughter makes up for lost time when we are together by napping less and nursing longer. This is very common for breastfed babies. Nursing is comforting and relaxing, and baby misses that throughout the workday. As my daughter pretty much sleeps through the night regularly, our mornings, evenings, and weekends are spent together. I hold her, play with her, feed her, and generally go crazy enjoying our time.
I am generally an organized and fastidious person. I like to put things away immediately, and I like everything to have an "away place." I dirty a dish, and right into the dishwasher it goes. I like folding laundry right out of the dryer. My husband thinks I waste time doing things out of order, but I feel I save time by not putting things off until later, when I may not have the time.
We had Christmas dinner at my house. My husband's extended family came and stayed through Christmas Day. The weekend before New Years until New Years Day, we went to Pittsburgh to visit my family. I caught a cold in Pittsburgh and was sick when I got back home. It's been two weekends since then. Both were spent essentially restocking our home by taking shopping trips, and working for my husband.
All of these things meet at this point. My house is still a wreck from Christmas. I am not able to clean it because I spend all time at home caring for my baby. My husband must use all extra time to work. We don't have down time. And now, my in-laws have spent the day in my filthy house. After a day of working at my job, I'm heading home feeling like a failure. I can't do it all, and it is driving me crazy. I haven't had the time to clean. I haven't had the time to do laundry. I barely have time to use the restroom. I'm not complaining, but I do have to vent how much of a rotten failure I feel like inside. I don't regret the time spent with my baby. I just wish I could survive on less sleep.
My beautiful daughter, my Angel Girl, is three months old. I know it more exactly, too--fifteen weeks, four days, and roughly eleven hours old. This may reflect what I'm beginning to realize about myself--I am steeped in motherhood. It took over my life in a rough, overwhelming, and irreversible way, but I grew to really, really love it. My Angel Girl is out of her so-called "fourth trimester," which means that's she's awake, both literally and figuratively. She sleeps much less than she used to (and much less than I think babies her age do, on average), but she's also aware that she wants to be held, she wants to be talked to, she enjoys being talked to, and she enjoys talking back. I think we heard her first word, "Ma!" on Sunday, January 6, and yesterday, she looked right at my husband and said, "Da!" She wants to kick and flail, shove both hands in her mouth and suck and gnaw, grab on to Mommy's hair and yank, put various non-pacifier limbs of Mr. WubbaNub into her mouth, or hang her ringy rattle from her mouth and both of her hands. She wants to see and do and participate. She likes and dislikes. She has a will. She's a little person, all smiles and grabbiness and a few scant giggles here in there (although it's like pulling teeth to get them out of her). It's the most exciting thing I've ever done, I never expected to feel this way, and I don't know if it's biological or mental, but I'd never look back or regret it. This is just too good.
