Unconditional love, adorable faces, and that delicious new baby smell: who hasn't fantasized about having a newborn baby of their own. Well, I've got a newborn, and I'm here to tell you chicas living in la-la that yes, babies are adorable and life-affirming, but they're also a ton of work. Even with a husband at home to pitch in and enough money in the bank to keep the kid in an endless supply of diapers, wipes, onesies, blankies, and binkies, it's tough. How tough? Read on.
May 6, 1 p.m. Hank arrived May third via Caesarean, and we've just arrived home from the hospital. As soon as my husband goes out to run an errand, Hank starts to cry and cry. As I stare at his bright red yowling face, I vow not to let my husband leave the house again until Hank is in college.
May 6, 7 p.m. My milk has arrived, and how! Man the torpedoes. I'm also leaking like a faucet. If I even brush against my breasts with my arm, they start dripping.
May 7, 11 a.m. Felt cheered today because, for the first time, I could see my toes below my belly. I think it's gonna take a million sit-ups a day to get rid of my baby gut. I tried to squeeze into my old jeans, but no go. I'm afraid I'll have to hang on to my yucky maternity clothes a little longer.
May 8, 12 noon. Friends have been dropping by and they say how cute Hank is and how great I look. I suspect that they're really thinking, "Wow, is she fat. And that little runt has got quite a set of lungs on him."
May 8, 6 p.m. A friend called and asked us out to a club. Is he crazy? Yeah, sure, I'm in the party mood: I'm chubby, cranky, and constipated. Besides, what would I do with Hank? My husband actually thought he could go without me, but I remind him, "Hey, if I suffer, you suffer."
May 10, 11:30 p.m. Hank falls asleep nursing around nine o'clock, but when I put him down in the bassinet, his eyes bolt open, his mouth quivers, and he delivers his patented ear-splitting cry. I pick him and nurse him some more. This works great, except now the little leech won't let go of my left boob for about two hours. I guess I have to kiss my freedom good-bye, unless I consider having to hold a nine-pound tyrant around the clock a liberating experience.
