I’ve wanted to write the perfect post. About how my birth plan went to absolute shit. About being induced without warning and having a C section at the final hour. About how supremely terrified I was on our first night home with our daughter. About how truly awful those first eight weeks were. About how my life has forever changed.
But perfect is a ridiculous concept these days. I’d settle for mediocre. I feel quite mediocre. I’m still 15 pounds away from where I want to be, with the bulk of my muscle tone, after almost three years of lifting weights, gone. My maternity clothes are too big but my regular clothes are, well, it’s a 50/50 shot if they’ll fit or not. Suffice it to say, my regular clothes are working quite hard. I went back to work last week after twelve weeks of maternity leave. I used to work 50-60 hour weeks, often working on weekends. Those days are long gone. I have to cram as much focused, productive, streamlined work into the usual 9 – 5:30pm work day. I haven’t even gotten to the gym yet – and will I be able to rationalize an hour and a half in the middle of the day when I’m leaving comparatively early to what I used to do? I think I’m doing extremely good work in those hours – but the volume is substantially decreased.
And comedy. I’ve been on stage twice since I’ve had my daughter. How will I fold stand-up back into my life? I have ideas. A handful of shitty premises. It’s a start.
I’m forgetful and even when reminded, it’s often as though I’m hearing the information at hand for the first time, like a constant blackout drunk. Friends text me and check on me. I’m not sure I always ask how they are doing.
Here’s what’s not mediocre. Not even a little bit.
That angry baby up there? She’s also this goofy, precious, beautiful wonder who farts all the time.
I love her so much that it hurts. All of her firsts. I cried the first time she truly giggled (in response to me singing, in my godawful singing voice, the Doors’ “Hello, I Love You.”) These days, she sleeps through the night and wakes up smiling. And my husband? My kind, loving, thoughtful, silly husband is a great dad. He’s a natural. I watch him with our daughter and it’s almost as though he was always a dad waiting to happen. People say that Layla is special. Calm, laid-back, happy – and that that’s because of us. Our days are chaotic and short and far too quick. But life is good. Life is great. And decidedly not mediocre.