The Working Mom Delimma...

You know it. You've heard it. You've probably even participated in a debate about it. The now common-place discourse surrounding women everywhere who have children: working mom v. stay-at-home mom.

I won't even pretend to be an expert on this subject, considering that I've not done either for very long. But...let's just say the preliminary verdict definitely lands on the side of the working mom. I was a stay-at-home mom for three months and I've now been a working mom for 2 months. Let me be the first (well probably not the first) to say that being a stay-at-home mom is difficult. It's tiring and emotionally draining. It can also be pretty isolating. However, for someone like myself who genuinely feels that the sun rises and falls from within my daughters beautiful baby bottom, it was a glorious time. I got to spend my entire day watching her learn, develop, and grow. Watching her personality blossom before my eyes.

Now, I spend 75% of my time (and I'm being modest) thinking about her and wishing I was the one with her, teaching her and nurturing her... rather than watching her on my computer screen (on a less than optimal video stream might I add). I wake up before dawn; get her up, dressed, fed, and out the door with her father. I squeeze in about a three mile run and get back just as the sun is making its appearance and the street lights are bidding adieu. I throw myself together (usually in thirty min) and get to work barely on time. There, I spend the rest of my day taking care of very special, delightfully high maintenance children whilst fighting the inner mom impulse to check on her via computer every 30 seconds (the gift and curse of having her at a daycare with a camera system). I'm dying to be with her every moment and hear every new sound, see every new developmental milestone...enjoy her.

But...instead, I work.

I work so that she can have ridiculously cute little pajamas and adorable dresses. I work so that one day she won't have to work quite as hard as I have.

And when I get home...I cook, clean, and scrub little bottles with a baby on my hip (or hanging from my boob). I rest for the first time all day after she's sound asleep in bed around 7:30...and shovel some dinner down before I pass out in the bed. Then, I do it all again the next day.

This is my life. I do the best I can to give every aspect-mommy, worker, and wife--100%...

But I'm beginning to realize there isn't quite 300% of me...

Is it just me...or is she perfect?

So, it's been 10 weeks, 5 days since I gave birth to the most phenomenal human being on the planet.

Layla Holiday Moye was born on May 3rd--6 pounds 14 ounces. {this is her at two days old...pretending like she likes pacifiers--she won't go near one now!}

It already seems like she's been here for years...at the same time I feel like it was just yesterday that I brought her into this world. To watch her little personality blossom everyday is a gift from God. She acts like she's been here before with her sideways glances and hilariously-timed babbling.

It's funny how naturally parenting came to us. I assumed I would be somewhat lost and freaking out for at least the first week...but, honestly, it really came quite easily (the hardest part was the anxiety of waiting for my milk to come in). It didn't hurt that she is basically an anomaly--been sleeping until 5am since she was a week old, and to at least 7:30am since she was 2 weeks old! Couldn't ask for more sleep. So, no, we haven't had to go through the terror of being sleep deprived. We trade duties as much as possible (I breastfeed, but I pump such that my husband can feed her twice a day). We give her everything. We play her constantly. We tell her she's beautiful and we love her every 60 seconds.

She. Is. Our. World.

I never thought I'd be here but I'm so glad I am.

Adventures in PreggoLand

So, here we are. About 8 months in and growing more and more impatient by the second. I'm ready for her to make her grand entrance! And, of course, I say this aloud and everybody pelts me with "nooo you want her in there as long as possible" comments/stink-eyes. So I'll clarify, obviously I want her fully developed. Sheesh. I'd just also really like to stop dreaming of her and obssessing over what she'll be like...and actually get to hold her, feel her, and get to know her.

I'll admit it. I'm in love. In love with a tiny bundle I've never even met (who packs a mean punch and a powerful roundhouse kick by the way).

Someone, a mother of two, told me the other day not to be surprised when she comes and I don't immediately love her and feel connected to her. WTF?! I nodded and smiled--as I've learned to do frequently as of late... when people drop their nonsensical ridiculousness on me--but are you serious??? I already love her more than life itself (even more than Louboutins or literature!) and feel inextricably linked to her! I can't even imagine the swell of emotion I'll feel when she actually gets here! It's amazing how strongly one can feel about something that still seems so abstract. I mean, sure, I feel her moving and acting crazy in there.. But she's almost like an appendage: a portion of my body that thrives and lives but is not independent of me. It's like loving a piece of myself that decided to develop a mind of it's own (Actually that's pretty much exactly what's happened.).

Which got me thinking: Who are these crazies that are allowed to produce spawn these days? You see them...slinging their kids around in Wal-Mart. Cursing their babies out in the line at Walgreens. Driving with their kids sitting on the damn dashboard. It seems any and every body can, and has, knocked out a kid or two. I figure we've got to at least be better than those douchebags...so we'll be fine....

Right?


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