Stories of life in the suburbs with Husband and our daughter Squishy and son Button!

Friday, September 9, 2011

Don't Open Until 9/9/11

Dear Squishy,

One year ago, I woke up with wet underwear. I blame you. I didn't get to have that rush of "Shit, my water just broke in the middle of the grocery store!" No, no. You were subtle. A gentle stream of amniotic fluid and peaceful contractions to let me know it was going to be a long, long day and night.

We were a great team, don't you think? No, I'm not talking about your father, little girl. He did the best he could. But really, how much can you say to a woman in labor if you're packing male genitalia? That's right. Jack Squat.

I'm talking about you and me, my love. It was 17 hours of labor for you, too. Good work, little lady. If I was yelling when you came out, sorry. But mommy's epidural wore off and it hurt a little (like Hell on my vagina). You were yelling, too. But you were supposed to be pissed, and it was probably pretty cold.

Although Mommy is usually very eloquent with words, all I could exclaim at the time was "Oh My God, it's a baby." Yeah, you sure picked a winner of a mother.

Squishy, my darling baby girl, you have survived your first year of life. How? I have no clue. When you were born, I knew as much about raising a baby as you know about the Reykjavik Symphony Orchestra. Actually, I've never asked you if you actually know anything about them, so that might be a bad simile.

Along the way, we've had many ups and downs. You're the best excuse I've ever had for leaving a place! I hope I can still milk that for a few more years. Your blissful ignorance to the ways of the world have also proven to be one of the best remedies for pure disastrous despair.

Alright, you want the truth? I honestly can't recall a lot of it. You wanna know why? Because this is my first time! I am so sleep deprived I hardly know what day it is sometimes. Thank God we have like, a zillion pictures of you so far...and over 100 little videos.

Let's give some credit where credit is due...I was pretty much your slave for the last year. You can't do anything for yourself except get into things, and most of the time you can't even get out of those things. I do all the work, and you stay alive. Without context, this would seem like a brutal situation that Oprah would investigate. But thankfully, we have that brilliant connection caused by hormones.

Little-Boo, it's been one hell of a year! Thanks for taking the ride with me. I couldn't have done it without you. And let's be honest, you'd be toast without me.

Looking forward to the rest of your years,
Mom.

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