I looked at her, she looked at me. We eyed one another warily. I was completely new to this gig, she was fresh from the oven. I held her legs aloft, determined to pull this off. I was woman, surely I could accomplish this task; it wasn't too daunting for me. I grasped the edges and pulled. The side came loose with a loud ripping sound and I trembled. One more to go. I pulled firmly on the tapes, with newfound confidence. I had this! I pulled the diaper out from under her bottom,the cool Spring air hit her parts and she let out a wail. More like a
car alarm Four alarm fire air raid siren. I promptly burst into tears, knees knocking and... peed myself. No, really, I did. I bet she doesn't even know that. well, now she does.
I was a new mama, straight out of the hospital, with a baby that I couldn't give back. She hadn't cried much in the hospital, I wasn't used to it, and the sound of her distress really set me on edge. Fatigued muscles that were
never meant for passing a grapefruit had just had enough. Thankfully, I was wearing a huge postpartum pad, the kind they give you on the mother/baby floor attached to those sexy net underwear you know the ones, a cousin to support hose and the size of grandma's shower cap and that could probably absorb a small lake. (good thing!)
And that was my introduction, fifteen years ago, today, to motherhood. It got better.(spoken in my best Monty Python accent, of course)
Happy Birthday, baby girl. I am so very proud of you in so very many ways. and if I enumerate them here now you will be even more embarrassed, so I should probably quit while I'm ahead.(and not tell the story of how you projectile-pooped all over the nursery door in front of Daddy's coworkers at the very next diaper change...)
T, who is NOT old