I can't be my crappy old self anymore.
I must become a crappy new self!
I have a beautiful, healthy, vital son. Baby boy Elliot is wonderful, and his father has been endlessly amazing. We don't know what we're doing. We're spinning plates. (Cue Radiohead song, or something equally poignant.)
Elliot was extremely considerate and didn't go into labor until the day after I turned in a manuscript to my agent. I think that earns him a dedication slot, yes? Not to be all Suri Cruise by keeping him under wraps -- he's utterly adorable -- but I've decided not to post pictures of him publicly yet. Not sure he needs an Internet presence this early in his young life. This will likely change in the future but for now I'm Cautious!Weird!Luddite!Mom. If you're jonesing for baby pics, check out these images of my niece when she was 9 months old.
Also: Remember how I railed against "too much information" and women who feel compelled to share allllll the details of their nightmare labors? I get it, now. I get the compulsion to blurt this stuff out.
My labor was a 30-hour disaster, a checklist from childbirth class of "everything that might go wrong, plus things you've never heard of." Don't worry, I won't post details, and I certainly won't inflict the tale on any unsuspecting pregnant women. But I get it, now.
Perhaps needless to say, posts will be sporadic for the immediate future. Elliot and I have lots of ground to cover.
This blog entry was brought to you by real caffeine.
