Milk Maid

Midway through my ritualistic apres-Mass brunch preparation yesterday, I was summoned by a new, very little VIP at our establishment. My other guests could wait - my sous chef could finish flipping the omelets and frying the potatoes in the bacon's drippings - she had a reservation - she wanted to sit down - she wanted to eat now. So up we went to her special pillow top table for one where I served the best house made, organic milk that I could provide to an open-eyed, hungry little girl. 

For the past four days, this little VIP has shifted all my existing priorities - culinary and otherwise - replacing them with one: her mouth; my milk. All routines have been scrapped, chores and exercise have been pushed aside, sound slumbers have been interrupted, and meal preparation for the more traditional diners at my table has required support. What was once a balanced portfolio of work and extra curricular activity was traded in for a new career in the milk industry focused on the efficient and ample production of nature's best all to help my Mary grow.

I've got to say though, of all the meals that I have prepared over the past decade, Mary's breakfasts, lunches, dinners, brunches, cocktail hours, and midnight and later night snacks have been my greatest accomplishments. Too much information or not, the sense of pride I felt when she latched for the first time in the hospital, then when she did it back at home without the help of our (amazing) lactation consultant, when the slow drip of colostrum turned to a steadier stream of milk, and each time when her hunger subsided into soporific satisfaction was more rewarding than rave reviews from the most discriminating diner; Better than any perfect paper, winning goal, round of applause or outstanding performance review.   

The simple joys of my milking firsts has been enhanced by other new experiences as well; baby basics that have simply left me speechless:

Say, mastering the perfect swaddle - one that I'm certain Mad Mex burrito makers across the greater Pittsburgh region must be very good at.

Seeing the likeness across four generations.

Coming up with a 30-minute lullaby medley, which as a former Calvary Camper was very easy. The 'time to mellow out' campfire songs and Chapel standards work like charms. Hint: start with 'Take a Stick of Bamboo.'

Learning that changing itty bitty diapers isn't too bad at all, especially when you have a husband that jumps right in to do it for you.

Giving in to the fact that I can't do it all right now - that I need support - and that the fruits of my kitchen are just as good when Opa steps in.  

Sipping Peter's Cyclone Stout - the dry Irish kind - on Mary's first St. Patrick's Day.

And just being that voice, smell, touch and taste that makes a whimper disappear.

Mary is 4.5 days old now and there's no doubt that they've been some of the best days (and nights) of my life.

Lo.