115
That number is the age of my son (In days, not years. Ho boy, I am funny!). That is about 16 and a half weeks, or approximately four months. FOUR MONTHS. That means Matthew has only been on this earth for about 4 months, but to be honest, I barely remember what life was like before he came along. Since he entered the world my days have been fuller, richer and so much more rewarding. He is so little, so small, and yet the impact he has upon my life is dramatic. In fact, for someone who needs to be attached to my person to move through the house, poops his pants on a regular basis and randomly regurgitates food on my shirt, I find Matthew to be one of the most fascinating people I know.
I desperately want to write about my birth experience, and I keep putting it off, because I want it to be a perfectly documented memory. The trouble with that statement 'perfectly documented memory' is the longer I wait to write about the day, the less I will remember. I am such a dork. I need to just sit down and plunk something out, anything, because before you know it the story will go something like this: "I had a baby and my belly button will never look the same. The end." Waiting to write down my thoughts isn't making things any easier, that is for sure.
Leaving for work also falls into the category of not getting any easier. People keep telling me that it will get easier to leave my son and go to work all day long, but they are wrong. They are so very, very wrong. I hate leaving my son. I hate that I can't see his face during the day, and the mornings that I leave the house I find every reason in the world to stay just a second longer. I am continually late to work, but that lateness gives me a few precious seconds to be in the same house with my boy. In a way I have to numb my ability to feel before I walk out the door, or else every time I leave, I would be a hot mess of tears, snot, and raccoon eyes. The only part of my days at work that I like are when I get to leave and go home. Holding Matthew, watching him give me a big toothless grin, hearing him coo and seeing him shrug his shoulders, there is nothing better.
I desperately want to write about my birth experience, and I keep putting it off, because I want it to be a perfectly documented memory. The trouble with that statement 'perfectly documented memory' is the longer I wait to write about the day, the less I will remember. I am such a dork. I need to just sit down and plunk something out, anything, because before you know it the story will go something like this: "I had a baby and my belly button will never look the same. The end." Waiting to write down my thoughts isn't making things any easier, that is for sure.
Leaving for work also falls into the category of not getting any easier. People keep telling me that it will get easier to leave my son and go to work all day long, but they are wrong. They are so very, very wrong. I hate leaving my son. I hate that I can't see his face during the day, and the mornings that I leave the house I find every reason in the world to stay just a second longer. I am continually late to work, but that lateness gives me a few precious seconds to be in the same house with my boy. In a way I have to numb my ability to feel before I walk out the door, or else every time I leave, I would be a hot mess of tears, snot, and raccoon eyes. The only part of my days at work that I like are when I get to leave and go home. Holding Matthew, watching him give me a big toothless grin, hearing him coo and seeing him shrug his shoulders, there is nothing better.
posted by Al at 2:02 PM
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