Try as I might, I can’t stop the hands of time and the sand is running out before Mila turns one on Friday. Why is this affecting me so much? Is it because she will likely be my only baby and her first year of life was a blur of panic and pandemic? Because ONE marks the end of baby and the slow transition to toddlerhood? Is it because my 42nd birthday looms just behind and OMG where do the years go?
Deep breaths. There is much to celebrate. My brother and his fiancé are flying in. Bryan’s sister is, too. There will be lots of birthday song singing and cake eating and smashing for photos and cute outfits that are quickly ruined by frosting.
The other day I had this horrible feeling that I’m not fun enough, which led me down a path of not feeling enough of anything lately. What a horrible rabbit hole to fall down! I worry constantly about Mila’s nutrition and I feel massive amounts of guilt that my pumping journey is coming to an end (but hallelujah–to have sweet freedom from the pump!). It’s my birthday present to myself this year. I wanted to do all I could to make it through a year of breastmilk and holy shit was it challenging but we are here now and I deserve this break.
I get jealous sometimes that Bryan is never plagued by the same nagging thoughts that I am. No one ever questions a father’s ability to parent and no one has ever made him feel bad about the job he’s done. He’s congratulated simply by being! Let me be clear–Bryan is a phenomenal father and he makes it look effortless. And maybe I don’t. But the number of times people have come to me to tell me how great of a job he’s doing makes me feel less than. Like, maybe parenthood doesn’t look effortless on me at all.
Anyway, this is today’s word vomit. I just can’t believe it, you guys <3