Why?
Because . . .
I describe sleeping in four-hour increments as a "good night's rest."
The phrases "That was a good burp," and "You can do it! Fill that diaper!" have crossed my lips more times than I care to know.
Bodily excretions - even flying ones - no longer phase me.
I am more likely to catch vomit in my hand and then be pleased so little hit the carpet than be grossed out by it.
I lost my heart at the same time I lost my mind.
I eat like there is a deadline - because there usually is.
I am never so happy as when N finally goes to sleep . . . except when she wakes again.
My living room looks remarkably tidy when it is not clotted with waiting laundry baskets.
I am beginning to realize the virtues of a "mom hair cut."
I spend hours staring at one little face and it never gets old.
I smile when I see a crusty patch of dried drool on my chest because it marks the spot where my daughter slept.
People are extremely understanding when I arrive late or early with an explanation beginning, "The baby . . . "
I feel that knowing look come into my eyes when women start whipping out labor stories.
I speak in a high-pitched voice and refer to myself in the third person . . . a lot.
An exceptionally productive day means the dishes and laundry got done and I have a plan for supper.
I think the morning sunlight streaming through my bedroom window is put to shame by the brilliance of one little girl's smile.
