A week ago tonight, I went into labor, the inevitable conclusion of which came 26 and a half hours later with the arrival of our son Otto. Nothing went as we expected, but everything ended up as we had hoped. I’m still processing the experience, which had its fraught moments, the worst of which I didn’t personally witness (Seth however may be permanently scarred).
We’re all safely at home now, grasping at a semblance of routine, aided by visiting family. A couple random observations about early parenthood: One, the much-ballyhooed pregnancy hormones, whose influence I largely escaped, have now come to roost, reducing me to tears over things worthy (the unexpected profundity of breastfeeding) and unworthy (a routine question during a follow-up phone call); and Two, that this is a time that calls for letting go of my long-standing belief that I can do it all by myself. So many people have helped us so far, and are setting us up for the weeks to come, when we will in fact have to settle into our own new normal.
Accordingly, I anticipate sporadic blogging for the near term. The last thing I want to do is “mommy blog” – blah. (There’s an interesting Slate piece up on “mommy” used as a pejorative-leaning qualifier for all sorts of nouns that don’t need it – but I am too lazy to search for the link and include it.) I’ve found this space to be valuable for a variety of reasons, including the need for a regular writing deadline, and I know it will be waiting for me when I’m able to come back.