Honey, let's play hookie 'cause it snowed outside

Remember when I used to blog? Hey, me too. That was fun wasn't it?

I can barely find the thoughts, much less the time, to do so lately. Things are getting a little . . . crazy.

Crazy like how it snowed while there was a blue sky yesterday. I said, "Hey Winter. It's been fun. Now get off my lawn."

Also, my crazy baby smiles. It's so fun.

Letting go to hold her tighter

It's true that having kids changes you. The little one makes Mike even more determined to work hard. He kisses her on the top of the head when he leaves for work and tells her he's going for her. But somehow she's had the opposite effect on me.

I took a midterm last week and got a C. And I was thrilled! When in my life have I ever rejoiced over a C?! My happiness was two-fold. I felt this huge wash of relief that now that I'm obviously out of reach for a good grade, I can stop pretending to care  and just shoot for passing which, by the way, is 50%. And since I got a C, that means I can get like, oh, 30% on the next test AND STILL PASS. Because all I need is the credit. So I can graduate. (Graduate?! So weird.)

I think the babe likes my new relaxation approach to homework because it gives me more time to laugh about the fact that she throws up on herself and does the biggest smile as it runs down her neck. And then I get to count her neck folds as I wipe between each one.

Sweet.

Homeless

Some nights feel like battle zones. Last night wasn't one of them, my little one let her bright eyes get some much-needed sleep. But two nights ago?? Hooooboy! It was a bit of a doozy.

When sunshine fills my bedroom after those long fight-filled nights and the babe grunts and gives out the periodic lone Waaa! (but only one. It's like she's saying "Hey! I'm getting a little peckish!") I look over the side of her bassinet and see a baby that looks completely homeless.

Crusty milk is dried not only around her mouth, but down her neck and in her eyebrows. Her left eye-- which has been crusty since the first day out of the womb--is sporting three of the largest, greenest eye boogers known to man. And the Karo syrup that held on yesterday's bow didn't get washed off completely so a sticky smear graces the top of her head. Evidence of nighttime's war.

I have to laugh as I ask her "Where is your mama?!

Soak it up

It's been a while since I've made much art. It's also been several days since I've written in my journal or recorded my thoughts here. I've thought over and over again how I need to be writing more, recording more, responding to this new experience more. But my creativity seems to be on hiatus. And plus, how do you begin to respond to something so momentous as having a new life suddenly placed in your arms?

I wake up each morning to my little bright eyes quietly grunting (will they ever turn to coos?) and waiting for her breakfast (or was breakfast the 4 am meal? or perhaps breakfast is the 10 o'clock snack?). She's so content and lovely I don't know how I got so lucky. I wonder each day if today will be the day that I'll collage or paint or draw about my little one. But what's a drawing really? Rather than trace my pencil over paper, I'll trace my finger over her nose and cheeks. Oh I love her cheeks...

I feel like my art right now is motherhood. I'm not going to respond to it. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to be a mom and soak up the sweet quiet moments while she is still so small and everything is new.

Sometimes I'm on another planet

I defended my thesis on Tuesday. Thursday I attended a lecture and went to mt Stats class (I curse my freshman-year-self nearly every day for not finishing these two 100-level generals with the rest of the freshman at BYU. It always seemed easier to take them Later. Now that Later is here I'm thinking Earlier may have actually been the better choice. But I digress...)

When I'm on campus it feels as if I never left (for a week) to, you know, HAVE A BABY. People ask me how motherhood is and it feels so disconnected from where I am at that moment: school. My school-self and my mother-self aren't acquaintances. I feel like they're parts of two lives. Last semester--with all its art and craziness--seems like a lifetime ago. But a lifetime I revisit now and again when I actually go to class. Weird.

Thinking about motherhood as I walk around Cougar Campus, it feels like a foreign place. But on the same token, when I think that I'm technically still a student and that I have a midterm in a few weeks, school seems just as far away.

Why can't I reconcile the two parts into one me? Maybe it's because of the newness of everyday that I still don't feel like I'm living in my own skin. This child is mine? This child is mine. This child is mine! And I can't get enough of her. Because I'm her mama. She knows my face and my voice and when she's fussy people hand her to me, rather than some other mother-figure in the room. Because I'm the mama. I'm her mama. I make her feel calm and safe and quiet. And I can't get over it.

I was asked to write up a paragraph of the greatest accomplishments of my undergraduate career. I still haven't finished it. In fact, my cursor is blinking after the first sentence of my brainstorming document: I gave birth to a perfectly beautiful baby girl. (insert blinking cursor here).

It just hit me again. Holy crap.

Rice Cereal

There's a famous piece of family folklore that involves my grandmother feeding my father rice cereal at something like 6 days old. Apparently if you stuff them full enough, they sleep through the night?

Last night I had a dream that my dad was forcing rice cereal down my baby's throat. And he wasn't even using a baby spoon which almost made me more mad than the fact that she's 2 1/2 weeks old and can't even digest solids. As I was getting on my dad's case about it, my grandma enters, ignores me, and starts praising my dad on what a good grandfather he is.

I woke up angry to a hungry baby and I did not feed her rice cereal.

Another Funny

P: Hey do you want to read scriptures?
M: Mmm hmmm (long pause) But I don't know where to put them.
P: Put what? The scriptures?
M: No. The cars.
P: What cars?
M: . . . bringing people to get their ears pierced.

Needless to say, we didn't read last night.