Half birthday

I have enjoyed all the various comments and advice I’ve gotten about Rosie’s pooping and sleeping.  She is slowly getting better about the sleeping (No-Cry Sleep Solution is working, PRAISE JEEBUS) but we are still waiting for the nuclear colon bomb to explode. Construction on a fallout shelter begins tomorrow.  I also enjoy the fact that one day Rosie will be 13 and will TOTALLY WIG OUT about the fact that I discussed her poop or lack thereof on the internet.  At which point I’ll remind her that, no, it’s worse than that – her mom talked about her own boobs, too.  A lot.

It’s hard to imagine Rosie at thirteen, just like it’s hard to imagine me at 43 (OMG), but it will be reality one day.  Today though, she is just exactly one half of a year.  Six months ago I was holding a little papoose in my hospital bed, perusing the cafeteria menu with What Not to Wear on in the background, giddy on the after-delivery hormones that were still racing around in my bloodstream.  That was a total high, but also?  It was a total high NOT TO BE PREGNANT ANY MORE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.  I think I rode that wave for…well, six months.  Until tomorrow when it will be six months and one day.

Rosie face 1

Let me just confess something that sounds cuckoo when typed out in black and white, but it’s true: I was worried for a little while early on that my love for Rosie was tangled up in that unpregnant high.  I thought maybe that once it had been two, three, five, months, that I would come down off of the mountain and that the way I felt about her would be different, muted, dampened.  I felt sure that there would be some learning curve for our relationship, seeing as how the only object of my maternal affection to that point was of the XY persuasion.  Didn’t opposites attract?  How could my XXs come together with hers and forge a relationship that would be even remotely as strong as the bond I feel with Noah? How did one love a daughter?

Rosie face 2

This is the point at which your eyes should be a little sprained from all the rolling. Because when I look at her now, I can almost hear the Divine chuckling that must have gone on when she was created: “I Double Dog DARE you not to be head over heels, madly, crazy in love with this spunky, smiley, sweet, spectacular baby girl.”

And I have to choose the Physical Challenge, because that’s a dare I can’t complete.  It’s impossible. Unthinkable. Against the laws of nature.  This is my Rosie.  And my XXs will love her XXs until the end of all time.

Rosie face 4

April 29, 2009   7 Comments