Ready or Not, Here He Is

9 weeks later - Prince Hunter has arrived.

There are certain things you can prepare for when you're expecting - just ask the nice lady at Babies R Us who insisted we needed over 100 items on our registry. And others you know you can't (no, I would not hold a baby to my boob and pretend as some books suggest). And then there's that tricky gray area - things you were sure you were prepared for but as it turns out, not so much.

I've changed diapers before. It's not rocket science. Or is it? Little did I know, Prince Hunter has the talent of choosing the exact moment - just after getting wiped up but before getting strapped into a clean diaper - to really let it go. Just because he already pooped in his diaper minutes earlier, does not mean his system is cleaned out. And for such a cute peanut, he really let's it rip. The explosiveness even frightens himself at times. I was wholly unprepared for washing poop off walls, floor and closet doors at 3 am. Lesson learned: diaper changing takes acute perception and skill, there's always more poop and unless you cover your entire house with tarping, things will get soiled.

I was prepared for labor and delivery. It is labor. It will be difficult and painful. I read all about the "amazing" transformations my body will go through to push the little lovey out. I read about how you simply have to breath through the pain and visualize yourself on a sunny, deserted beach. Or you just get the epidural and know he can't stay in there forever. For 40 weeks, you try to anticipate what it will be like the moment you actually see him for the first time. But you know that moment is not something you can ever really be prepared for. What never even entered my mind was the pain and discomfort that lingers after delivery. At that point, I thought the stork takes away all your pain when he drops off his bundle. Like the founding fathers trading with the native Americans- totally fair. It's not that people didn't warn me I wouldn't feel like running a marathon afterward, I just assumed I would be different. I would take a week and then be ready. Oh me, silly new mother.

But what I really wasn't prepared for was the worry. I knew I would worry about my child but I didn't realize it's like the appearance of wrinkles. They suddenly appear as if it were always there and you know, you just instinctively know, they're only going to get worse. One week you worry if he's eating enough. Then you realize he is gaining weight and growing out of his newborn clothes. You no longer focus on his eating (but you know the move to solid foods, allergies, finickiness, is all still to come). Now you think that maybe he's sleeping too much or too little. And you worry. Maybe he's over tired? Maybe he's lethargic because of some vitamin deficiency? It's like you no longer focus on your crows feet because now you've noticed tiny lines on your forehead.

Suddenly you're six weeks into parenthood and read in one of the books you know you shouldn't open, that by six weeks, your little prince should be smiling. And there he is - looking very serious. And you make silly faces and say things in a voice you used to make other fun of other mother's for using, and nothing. No mouth movement whatsoever. You can't even get him to look at you. (In retrospect, it's probably your first taste of the embarrassment your child will have for you. "Mom, PLEASE, stop using baby talk with me! I'm six weeks old already!") You desperately try to get him to make eye contact and then you wonder when was the last time he has really focused his eyes on something. And you were grinding coffee beans earlier and he didn't even look to see what the noise was. Next thing you know, you're Googling "autism and six weeks old." For a day and a half you read all about the early signs of autism and frantically try to remember, which is so easy in your sleep deprived state, which of the symptoms your child shows. You know he's probably fine, but there is that .1% of doubt that takes over and takes advantage of your still delicate hormone levels. And then, you hear him, sitting in his swing. You swear he said, "get off your computer and play with me." So you hover over him and looks you in the eye and smiles.

Ok, it didn't happen exactly that way but I started to see he was making better eye contact and got assurances from other mothers that they don't really smile until 8 weeks or even later - especially boys. And you relax because you know in your heart he is six weeks old and totally normal. But if anyone knows the Botox equivalent of child-rearing, I'm all ears.