breathe in, laugh out

Well holy f(*#$& crap… It’s 9:37pm on May 1st.  This time last year I was having the time of my life at Sharp Mary Birch Hospital for Women and Newborns.   If you think I’m joking or being sarcastic, you are so wrong.  May 1st 2018 was one of the best, most fun days of my life, and it was spent with Gingey (and partly Rissy) in a labor and delivery room.  I can’t tell you how many times during my 24 hours of labor I laughed so hard I cried.  Between the excitement of meeting my new little man for the first time who had been living inside of me for 38.5 weeks, and the compilation of weird and hilarious things labor is made of, the day was truly a hoot.

Mind you, I was on drugs.  All the drugs.  That helped.  The amount of drugs I was on didn’t allow me to move my extra swollen limbs though, so Gingey trying to lift and turn me as if I was a Mack truck just added to the hilarity of the situation.  I loved that 24 hours.  I really, really did.  I felt like we were on our last real date, just the two of us… so much quality time.

That tiny being finally came out of me and entered the world, and dang… did our lives immediately change.

But man… a year has passed.  How did that happen?  I don’t think all moms feel this way, but those first few months DRAGGED.  Everyone always says “time flies”… well no… it didn’t.  Time lasted for-ev-er.  The day never ended.  There wasn’t a “bedtime” people speak of.  There was no end to any day in sight…ever.  Between feeding, pumping, washing bottles and pump parts, figuring out how to keep germs away for that ever impending cleft lip surgical repair, there was just never a physical or mental “breather.”  Those first 5 months with my first newborn experience, before surgery and then through recovery were TOUGH.  Really tough.

But then… all you people turned out to be right.  Time FLEW.  How did my tiny baby go from 5 months to a year??  So many things have changed in this first year of his life on Earth.  “Tacos” developed his own little personality.  He has opinions. He does.  I get it.  He’s a baby. I realize this.  But this baby has opinions…  He has mannerisms, he has POOPED ON THE TOILET THREE TIMES (thankyouverymuch)… he has developed a love, friendship and understanding with his dog brother, Ollie (or “Olla,” which was his third word after first mama, then dada…not that I need to rank his words in order, but like, I kinda do)…  He has learned how to communicate, whether with his super dramatic gestures, or with his words… minimal English, maximal gibberish.  And he’s funny.  Yes, again, I get it… he’s a baby.  But he’s actually very funny.

One thing hasn’t changed though.  I am, for better or worse, connected to this child.  My heart physically hurts when he cries.  My body hurts, my soul hurts.  Everything just hurts.  It’s not a reaction I want, or can control.  Ginge often thinks I’m insane, and maybe I am.  But I have to believe most mothers feel this aching, this pang.

It’s become a pretty big joke in our house.  We had an issue at Trace’s daycare one time… they “forgot” to feed him for like 6 hours.  Some mistake was made.  I don’t remember exactly what the excuse was, and it’s been fixed and all is good, but I was heated at the time, and discussing the situation with Ginge, and I told him I was going to go there the next day and give them a piece of my mind.  I was saying something like, “This will never happen again.  They don’t mess with my Trace…” Then my pointer finger came out and I exclaimed, “Not MY baby!”  Trace was present for this convo and he burst into laughter at that statement.  Like legit laughter.  It has never died.  It continues in this song… sing it with me:

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round,

The wheels on the bus go round and round, alllll through the town

The mommies on the bus go “not MY baby,” “not MY baby,” not MY baby”

The mommies on the bus go “not MY baby,” alllll through the town.

And there’s a pointer finger wagging, and there’s a tiny (very large) baby giggling, and this is how our household is run… with ridiculous songs and dances, and really anything to hear that amazing giggle and see those pearly whites.

Crap… we haven’t brushed those things in several days…

Now it’s 10:24pm.  In less than 3 hours, my little blonde haired, blue eyed clone (ok fine, I look like his freakin’ nanny), will be officially ONE YEAR OLD.  A whole revolution of the Earth around the Sun.  He is my sun.  And my son.  And my everything.  And in this past year I’ve learned so much about myself… figuring things out along the way.  I’ve learned so much about my relationship with Ginge.  We actually talked about this the other night after the nugget was in bed (bedtime: where the child actually goes to bed for an extended amount of time… THIS IS THE TITS).  I’ve read and heard time and time again that the two major things that can negatively affect a marriage or relationship are:

1. Money
2. Children

It’s crazy, but this blonde butterball of joy and poops has strengthened our relationship with each other.  We have learned how to work as a team… not perfectly all the time, obvi, but he forces us to talk, communicate and reflect with each other.  We have learned that we need to be in this together in order to raise a kind, happy and strong baby.  We need to treat each other as we would like others to treat our son, and as we expect our son to treat others.  We are a team through and through, and we haven’t needed marriage papers to define that, (buttttttt will have them exactly one month from today, just in case…).

This one year may be a blip on the radar… but this one year has been everything.  We couldn’t have asked for anything more.  We love you Trace Nicholas “Tacos” Joffrion.  You are our everything.

xoxo

Gossip Girl