Real baths, and instinctual motherhood tendencies, and a dash of backtracking.

So, to follow up on my previous post, Xavier had his first real bath today. This experience was considerably more pleasant than the prior sponge baths and crying extravaganza (so sorry to those of you who wanted pictures of my very unhappy baby in a tub hammock...there are none to be had)!

His first real bath!

Tomorrow we are making the (3 hour) trek down to The Husband's parent's...so, this will be the longest car ride Xavier has ever taken. I am hypothesizing it will go well - all the other car trips we've taken, he's slept most of the time (except for his first car ride home where he was not a happy baby).

Today marks Xav's 2nd week out in the world - it's going by so fast. I find it hard to believe it's been that long, and yet, being pregnant feels like it was years ago.

Look at you at 2 weeks old! Your Mama can't believe that much time has gone by!

By the way, I don't miss being pregnant. I've read a lot of blog posts and stories about how women miss their big round bellies, feeling their baby inside of them, etc... However, I'm so happy to have my range of motion back (well, at least 95% of it) and getting to hold and kiss my baby. I don't really see the appeal of being pregnant (sorry!).

Maybe the only thing I miss is the feeling that my baby is safe inside of me, or that he's completely content. When Xavier cries, it feels like my whole world comes to a screeching halt and all I want to do is make him feel better. It's hard for me, when he's in his car seat, if he starts to cry because he's hungry. I tear up and am awash with the feeling that I'm a bad mother for allowing my poor darling son to sit in the backseat starving to death. I take a deep breath, calm down, but still feel the urge to make The Husband pull over the car, so that I can run to the back and comfort him. I'm sure this feeling (of urgency) passes...but for now, it prevails.

I have decided this is all part of instinctual motherhood tendencies. After you have a baby, something hardwired in you clicks on and goes "TOP PRIORITY: PROTECT THIS AT ALL COSTS". I never considered myself a maternal being, and nor did anyone else - just ask my mother* - but as soon as I had Xavier, it all clicked on. Isn't it fascinating?!

Now, to backtrack a bit.

Yesterday, The (always wonderful and fabulous) Husband made dinner. Since I have been lacking in the area of culinary arts, he managed to pick up the slack. He made a delicious shrimp pasta sauce (fresh tomatoes from my parent's garden, roasted red pepper, onion, and broccoli) over whole wheat capellini.


He also managed to get this excellent modeling shot of Xavier.


It's hard to believe, one day, he'll be bigger than me. It's also hard to swallow that one day, he'll ask me to stop kissing all over him because it's embarrassing. I know I'll get an "I know, Mom." response after I've told him I love him more than anything for the tenth time in a day. This will all (too soon) come to pass, but I need to stop thinking about this, and revel in the fact that, right now, I can kiss and love and gush over his tiny little body as much as I want to, and there's nothing to stop me.

Xavier is fast asleep in his crib (behind me) and he furrows his brow and breathes deeply as if he's having a nightmare. I have to admit, I feel a little helpless. I don't want to wake him up, but I also don't want him to have bad dreams! (What do babies have bad dreams about anyway? I hope it's not of his mother not feeding him when he's in his car seat...)

Ah, motherhood...how I had heard tales of thee and yet never understood until now...

*My mother likes to tell the story of how when I was a little girl, for Christmas, she bought me several Barbie dolls (keep in mind that I was a bit of a tomboy - I was more interested in Paleontology and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at 6 years old than anything else). She pulled them from their packages and tried to play with me - you know, dress them up, have them talk to each other, the usual Barbie fare. However, she says that I looked at her, quite matter of factually and said, "Mommy, those aren't real." My mothers hopes and dreams of having a frou-frou little girl were dashed. I'm sorry, Mom. (I did, however, act quite motherly to a roaring Triceratops I named Rosie. Her eyes lit up red and she roared. I LOVED Rosie.)