I just had a baby. Yesterday. And he is so beautiful and perfect. I finally had the labor and delivery I’ve always wanted, and I can’t wait to tell you every detail. I feel the high of the sweet smell of a newborn and am amazed that I created such a wonderful thing. When you ask me how I am, I am genuinely ecstatic, thrilled, and unaware that soon the awe will morph into a weight and responsibility that is heavy. Forgive me if I am oversharing pictures of him on every social media platform. But isn’t he perfect?

I just had a baby. He’s a week old. And it’s going great. Kind of. But when you ask if you can come meet him, please please please understand when I am hesitant. He’s little. He’s healthy. I want to keep him that way. I am a bit of a mess. I’m a big bleeding, crying, leaking mess. And I’m trying so hard to keep it together, but truth be told I need bagels dropped off on the front porch without you ringing the doorbell way more than I need a visitor to interact with right now.

I just had a baby. He’s a month old. I send a snapchat to my friends of me googling, “how to lose baby weight” while I eat a bagel because, well, I’m tired. In my exhausted state, I think that’s really funny. I’m trying to keep up with the cool apps like Snapchat, and I wonder if people can really be happy not eating carbs. Seems impossible. I next google “cinnamon crunch bagel recipe” and am thrilled when a copy cat recipe pops up from a web site that has fitness in its name. Maybe these are healthy. When you ask me how I’m doing, I’m too tired to lie. “I’m exhausted,” I say. I’m too tired to say anything else or reciprocate the question. I’m sorry.

I just had a baby. He’s six weeks old. I’m supposed to be all healed, according to the doctors. I’m positive male doctors came up with that timeline. My body is unrecognizable in all ways. My eyes show only sheer exhaustion, my waist doesn’t show at all unless you count lumps and loose skin, and my boobs leak. All. The. Time. So when you see me at a social function, know that it took a lot for me to be there. It takes a lot to answer questions, and I feel awkward. A squeeze on the arm and a text the next day that there are bagels on the front step means more to me than I can explain.

I just had a baby. He’s nine weeks old. I still have three weeks of maternity leave but anxiety sets in – what will I wear when I go back to work? I WILL start working out this week. No more bagels. NONE. How could I have been awake 18 hours each day but be behind on cleaning, paying bills (a two day hospital stay costs HOW much?!), and mailing baby announcements? Has it really been 8 weeks since my mom’s birthday and I still haven’t gotten her a gift? Yikes. I did watch all six seasons of Gossip Girl while snuggling my baby, so I accomplished something. Surely I can’t be this behind on life. I hope you can’t see how overwhelmed I am when you ask me how I’m doing.

I just had a baby. He’s eleven weeks old, and I just dropped him off at daycare for a visit so the sweet ladies in the nursery can get to know him before he starts next week. I should be thrilled to have a few kid-free hours. Instead I hold it together just long enough to drive through Chick-fil-a and eat my feelings in the Target parking lot while sobbing. When you ask me how I am, I am not ok but I won’t tell you that. I am not looking forward to going back to work like I say I am. And despite having just eaten Chick-fil-a, I really want a bagel, too. But work pants are not forgiving.

The other day my mom was cuddling my sleeping baby, as only a Grammy can, and she said, “You know, these are the good old days. These days – the ‘just had a baby’ days – are the good old days. I know having babies is hard, so hard, but I would love to go back.”

I just had a baby. So when you see me back at work next week and you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll answer honestly, “We’re great – busy, totally exhausted, behind on everything, but really loving life with these sweet babies of ours.”

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