A Week and a Day

On Sunday I cried leaving the hospital. With each kid it's been the same thing. It starts when I say goodbye to the nurses at their station and continues as I walk back through the hallways that led me into birth and delivery initially. I hugged the heavy set nurse that accompanied us to the exit to ensure the baby got out safe and sound, and I expressed how thankful I was for three amazing experiences at her hospital.  

On Monday I cried watching my parents drive away; it would be another month before we'd see them again. My mom loves calling that kind of thing out and then lamenting that things go too fast. Which they do. Which only makes me more emotional.

On Tuesday we ate the last of the leftovers from our Davanti take-out and a Sunday 'family dinner' that made up for the ones I so frequently miss by not living in Pittsburgh.

On Wednesday I ate the last piece of cake; an almond hazelnut flourless chocolate cake that I had made my Dad for his birthday. It was so good.

On Thursday I threw away the gladiolas which had browned around the edges. A whole bunch of them, grown in Michigan, were $4 at the grocery store. I had bought them to decorate the house in anticipation of Margaret's arrival. The rest of the house had browned with dust as well. I cleaned and cleaned all morning until everything shined once again.

On Friday evening I opened a celebratory bottle of champagne. Margaret was one week old; the bags under my eyes showed it. By 7:00 PM it was gone. Luckily the cellar is stocked with more.

Today I went for a run, packed up my maternity clothes, vowed to put on something other than sweat pants, showered, put on a little make up, and zipped up a pair of jeans with enough slack in the waist. I was no longer a pregnant mom or a newly evicted hospital patient mom. I was just a mom again.

Tomorrow I'll take the balloons down. Mimi had brought them to the hospital. The kids were running around my hospital room carrying them. We tied them around the railing leading into our house when we got home. The helium has run its course though. They seem less and less lively each morning.

One week in the life of a newborn is nothing but firsts. A first day and night in your new home. A first dinner party complete with a ceremonial trumpet salute. A first swing and then nap in the Mamaroo, followed by a first spin around the play mat, big brother and sister looking on, begging you to do more than your tiny body will allow. First hand me downs and laundry piles dedicated just to you. First sponge baths in the sink and explosive poops all over Mommy right after you've finished. First bedtimes in the bassinet and first slumbers that last longer than four hours (thank heavens).

But with all the joyous firsts, I can't help but reflect on the fleeting nature of them. How fast it has already gone and how fast it will continue to go. I look at my four year, my two year old, and now baby, and wonder how we got this far so quickly.

Tomorrow, along with throwing away pretty pink balloons that I continue to mistake for solicitors at the door as I walk Margaret to sleep around our living room, we'll go to church and I'll likely find myself getting teary eyed. Sure, there are quite a few hormones involved, but ultimately my emotions stem from something else. It's an extreme sense of gratitude I feel every second of every day for the moments in my life and the family that contributes to them. It's been a wonderful week; a week gone too fast; and there's a large part of me hoping it won't be the last of its kind.

Lo.