My wonderful husband felt so sorry for me yesterday that he made me take a nap, then go to bed early - at 9pm. He was supposed to wake me up at 3am to feed the baby, but instead he let me sleep through it and took care of Ryan himself - even though he had to go to work this morning. My husband is amazing.

I felt so good - so awake - this morning that Ryan and I ran errands all day long. I’m sitting here with the most amazing sense of productivity.

Seriously, that’s one of the most annoying things about maternity leave. It takes three times longer to do anything now. Even running to the store is a mess. I don’t just grab a jacket, my purse, and run out the door now. Now I check to make sure the diaper bag includes all necessary supplies (and restock if anything is missing), change the baby’s diaper, set the baby in the pumpkin seat (car seat thingy), strap him in, dig up my purse (the house is a bit messy), find my keys, take whatever I need to the car, come back and get the baby, lock him into the car, then get in and go. Yeah, okay.

Ryan was in a good mood today, which made things easier. He’s generally a good baby, and I know I’m blessed. It was almost a bummer to come home to fix dinner. I love it when people coo over Ryan - he’s definitely coo-worthy. (Just don’t touch the child. I had one elderly stranger ask if she could hold him. Ooh, no.)

I was thinking about something Doug said the last time I saw him. He told me to remember to grieve for the life I’ve left behind. Today I really felt that. Enjoy the new life I have - the one with baby (or actually, with a baby around 24/7, which I haven’t had since Justin was 2 1/2 years old) - and grieve for the loss of independence, the extensive cut-back of me-time, the lack of real responsibility. There are many days I’m tempted to take my mom up on her offer to babysit so I can have some baby-free down time, but then I remember that this is my new calling, and I need to be able to step up to the plate. Time will come when I will take her up on the offer, but now is not the time.

Finding a rhythm,
michelle