Since I had a baby I feel sometimes there are two of me. One of me is the “mama me”; she’s the one who maintains a soothing tone of voice as she sings a lullaby to a small creature that has been screaming for an hour. She’s the one who has at least temporarily allowed that yoga pants can be worn in public, and can do the complicated arithmetic involved in knowing the timeline and supplies that give the best chance of preventing an utter meltdown in the checkout line at Target, or in the car on the way home from a visit to see grandparents.
There’s also “other me” she’s the one who is kind of shocked about how much things have changed. There once was just her and the cat in a studio apartment with no TV and a pull-out sofa for a bed. Now there are two cats, a husband, a mortgage, and this adorable baby. This is the me that sometimes still gets a little grossed out to be responsible for touching another human’s poop. She sometimes forgets that spur-of-the-moment dinner dates, and to-do lists that are composed exclusively of tasks that require two hands are not really feasible options any longer.
Both “me”s are totally in love with this baby and the time I am spending at home with her. But it’s weird sometimes to take a step back and see how things have changed so completely.
This is what it’s like in my head sometimes:
Last night was amazing!
Did you have sushi again? You were pretty pumped about that last time.
No, the baby was asleep before ten! she slept for seven-and-a-half hours! both of those sentences get exclamation marks! also this one!
And that’s your current definition of an amazing night? Remember the night at the karaoke bar in Aspen? Or when you’d go see that Michael Jackson cover band in college? Or last year in Cancun? Those were amazing nights.
My eight-week-old baby let me sleep until five in the morning. Then she ate, and went right back to sleep, and I slept almost three more hours. New mom, eight hours of sleep.
I guess that is pretty amazing.
But I do see your point about the Michael Jackson thing.