September 19, 1973
Dear Diary,
One week in, and I feel like I’ve aged ten years. I’m starting to think that parenting should come with a warning label: “Caution: May cause extreme exhaustion and sudden bursts of baby joy.”
This week, I dove headfirst into the world of breastfeeding. I thought it was as easy as flipping a switch. Boy, was I wrong! Watching Helen nurse Sarah was beautiful, but it came with challenges that would make a video game boss look like a puppy. She had to master the positioning, the latching, and apparently some secret rhythm. I felt like a referee in a match I wasn’t even allowed to participate in!
In my attempt to help, I read a book on breastfeeding. (I know, me reading a book? Shocking!) Turns out, I can’t actually do it myself. All I can do is cheer Helen on and keep her stocked with snacks. Seriously, if peanut butter sandwiches were an Olympic sport, Helen would win gold!
Nighttime feedings have become our new bedtime story. Each time Sarah cried, I would leap out of bed as if I were shot from a cannon—only to find that Helen was already awake, gently shushing our daughter like a seasoned pro. Sometimes I took Sarah after feeding, hoping for a sweet moment. Instead, I got a surprise “gift” in the form of a giant spit-up explosion that could rival any geyser! I think I’ll add “baby vomit stain expert” to my resume.
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And don’t get me started on babyproofing. Our once tidy house now looks like a toddler’s obstacle course. I didn’t realize how many dangers lurked in plain sight until I became hyper-aware of our little explorer. Our coffee table, once an innocent piece of furniture, now looks like a trap from a horror movie. I can see the day approaching when Sarah starts crawling, and I’m bracing myself for the chaos!
One particularly memorable day, I thought it would be a good idea to introduce Sarah to her new playmat. I laid it out on the living room floor, full of colorful animals and patterns. Helen and I cheered like we were at a concert, expecting her to laugh and giggle at the bright colors. Instead, she cried like we had dropped her into a pit of snakes! Parenting Lesson #1: Not all babies love playmats.
In the evenings, once Sarah was asleep, Helen and I would collapse on the couch, staring blankly at the television, too exhausted to even choose a show. We would share stories about our day—her triumphs and my blunders. It felt like we were living in a different world, one where time had stopped, and our entire focus revolved around this tiny being.
Sometimes I wondered if we were doing everything wrong. I found myself consulting the parenting books I had once scoffed at. One book suggested the importance of routines, but every time I thought I had one figured out, Sarah would throw a curveball, her mood shifting as quickly as the autumn wind.
But amidst the chaos, there were those golden moments—like when Sarah grasped my finger for the first time. I felt a warmth spread through my chest, a connection that was beyond words. It reminded me that despite the challenges, this journey was one I never wanted to end.
As the sun set on another day, I realized that every day was an adventure in this new life. The baby trenches were filled with laughter, tears, and moments of sheer exhaustion. But they were our trenches, and I was ready for the battle—armed with love and a sense of humor that would see us through!