I decided along about Wednesday that if Peter wasn't home, I would have to move back in with mom and dad. And just to say that outloud, willingly, is enough to begin fathoming my hormonal position. A very real conversation inside my frontal lobe, quite literally, goes like this - "Holy fuck what did I do? Dear God I didn't mean that, don't take her!" Not once did anyone say anything about motherhood being a sane position to move into. It's like being in new love, that fuzzy stage where everything the other person does affects your ability to reason. But I guess this is new love, so somehow it all makes sense. Right now she has hiccups and is farting up a storm, all the while looking at me as if to say, what the hell is happening to me mom??
We started nursing again this morning and I forgot how enjoyable it was. She seemed to latch back on with no trouble, which isn't bad considering it's been nearly 3 weeks since the last time we tried. I had to quit when she was 2 days old due to a tissue infection in my hip (that I got from a shot of demerol in the hospital, in labour, that I never really wanted, and all it did was make me barf, and upset her belly). They told me that is would land me back in the hospital if it wasn't taken care of immediately. And so began my journey into the Land of Unabashed Tears amidst the Hills of Inadequacy. But so far we've survived. We've managed to continue making our proverbial fire each night for warmth with enough embers surviving till morning to help make the next day's fire a little easier to light. We'll survive. And what a relief to be able to say that outloud with conviction and quiet knowing.
On the upshot, I'm really (read: REALLY) looking forward to having sex again. I think deep down mom was relieved to know that Peter and I were sleeping in separate rooms about 75% of the time, happy about baby, still not willing to come to terms with premarital sex, but I am so ready to climb back on that horse. (Sorry, I just laughed. Peter would be tickled pink to know that I just referred to him as a horse, even if I never really meant it in that sense.) Anyhoo, it just makes me happy that I want to have sex again soon. We were fooling around the other night and when everything was said and done, I rolled over and found a wet spot in a peculiar place. And whether you want to admit it or not, YOU KNOW ABOUT WET SPOTS IN THE BED AFTER FOOLING AROUND OR DOING THE DEED. Lie if you must, but know that I know you know. Anyways, we laughed because this particular damp area was from my boob. Another new novelty.
So going from the bedroom to the driveway (how's that for a seguay???) we also got a new vehicle, a Honda Element. And while I will be the first to admit that it's ugly as sin, I am so friggin' in love with this thing, it's retarded. We have ROOM. SPACE. Adequate area for copious amounts of baby paraphanalia. It's navy. It makes me feel like a mom. It freaks me out because there's still a minute notion in the back of my brain that keeps the idea of the possibility of her real parents still coming to get her.
We're listening to the Tragically Hip's Roadapples CD. One of my personal favourites. Yesterday we listened to Michael Buble and Ella Fitzgerald. Her dad exposes her to Sirious's Hair Nation (makes me feel our 10 year age gap, but really, what can you do?). We want to her to have it all, or atleast not be scared to go after it, to work hard and expect good things. We want her to know that you get back what you put into it. Be honest, realistic, and understand that it's ok to pull back when it's not working and reasses the situation. Don't lose yourself to other people's fears, and understand that there will come a time when you just say fuck it and do it anyway. And that her mother and father know first time that some things are well worth the wait. Even when they make you cry and cause great pains in you ass. And it's ok to occassionally hide your eyes.
"I figure if the kids are alive at the end of the day, I've done my job."