Mums love poops (and other love stories)
17 September 2018 : 4 weeks (1 month)
Lochie has hit a new milestone today with his first poonami. It was quite the event.
To share the pleasure of sleepless nights, from 8pm until 8am, husband looks after baby for the first 6 hours and I for the next.
And so on this eventful night, Don was on baby duty. I slept. At 12:30am Don stormed into the bedroom with that desperate look on his face and uttered, “I need your help.” By the time Don admitted defeat, much of the drama had been dealt with. I arrived on the crime scene to wash up. The towel and other affected materials had to go straight into the outdoor bin.
Afterwards we celebrated with the baby. Apparently breastmilk contains just what the baby needs, and therefore it is possible for the baby to go a few days without poops. It had been several days since baby produced a dirty diaper, and we had been counting every nappy to see if this was the one. Finally all our Christmases arrived!
Mums love poops. The best part was that, after we had washed and dressed Lochie, he was clean, cosy and warm, and being relieved, he passed out blissfully on my chest, mission accomplished.
As I cuddled him to calm him to sleep, I realised that every day with him I love him more and more. The reason so many songs, books and movies are about falling in love, is because this feeling is unlike any other in our human experience, and it does not happen often. After 10 years of marriage, a couple can reminisce about that sweet initial phase of falling in love. Will I ever experience that intoxicating feeling again in life?
Yet here is that chance to fall in love again – slowly, tenderly, deeply. Babycentre.com is full of pregnant women in their second trimester posting, “I’m in love (heart).” Really? I loved being pregnant, and with each stage I was more excited. But there was no instantaneous “love”. Sure, I could not wait to meet my baby, and to present to him in person the gift of affection I had been working on over the last 9 months. Then the baby finally comes out: tiny, scrunched up, and intoxicatingly aromatic. You can see his eyebrowless face, you can touch his miniature hands, you can smell his velvety head. That’s where the love begins.
The last 4 weeks haven’t been easy. Starved of sleep and requittal, it’s been hard to focus on that lovey feeling. I’m looking for something in return. Do you love me as much as I love you? Do you love me at all? Am I just milk on legs? You need me, you probably think you are me, and you cry when you’re not with me. When your fingers brush past my neck, are you reaching out, or is this your Moro reflex? When your eyes meet mine, do you know who I am, or are you involuntarily scanning a blurry room?
I don’t know and for now, it doesn’t matter. All I know is that on a bed of unconditional, presupposed love, a new type of exciting love grows for you: I can’t wait to see your personality unfold. And that feels like falling in love for the first time.
