November 14, 2005. Okay, so it was technically the first day of her life (and today the 74th), but really, in the fullest cheesy-Hallmark sense of the saying, it was the first day of the rest of my life. Because what they don’t tell you in pregnancy school (that blur of pregnancy magazines, websites, What to Expect Books and solicited and unsolicited advice that surrounds you for 10 months) is that when you come out the other side of pregnancy you are a different person. Or at least, I was. Am. This whole thing is way weirder than puberty ever was – sprouting boobs and getting a period was way less startling than becoming a walking, talking baby life-support system. I went from self-sufficient, self-centred (in the best possible sense, of course), thinking being to a completely biological being that is devoted to the care and well-being of another.
Which I find completely overwhelming. Nothing is so discomfiting as being a sort of grown-up, of the thirty-something urban adolescent variety, and feeling completely naive/ignorant/helpless in the face of the most enormous project you’ll ever encounter.
But hey, if everyone else can do it – um, Britney Spears, hello? – so can I. And for her – amazing, adorable, munchable her – I’ll do it with enthusiasm.
Yeah, for her, anything.
So, then, onward to the rest of my life.
(Day 74; 10 weeks, 3 days and counting…)