Notes from the Underbelly

Today my dear friend Mindy sent me her thoughts on how everything has changed. I thought about how, four years ago, we stood on her yard crowded with wooden pink flamingos I had sent for her birthday. I handed her a black strapless backup dress and she ran into her house and changed into it in the foyer before our three-hour dinner at the Melting Pot. A month later, she painted her toes purple in the passenger seat of my car on our way to Virginia Beach where we crashed in sleeping bags on her friend's couches, ate tuna salad sandwiches every day for lunch, to save money, and flirted with ill-chosen boys, to kill time. I watched the series finale of Friends in my jogging clothes on her couch because I was locked out of my house. She taught me how to climb indoor walls. We drank Sam Adams Cherry Wheat beer and watched movies and talked about the past and how it might come back in the future. She was one of the first people to meet The Boy. She said his spiky hair made him look "youthful" before we knew he looked youthful because he actually was. She's hundreds of miles north of here now, in her snowy Vermont with the love of her past who turns out to be the love of her life. So yes, everything has changed. Here is my response:

I can't get over how much things have changed either. I've been watching a ton of t.v. since I've been home with the baby and there is this match.com commercial that starts with this couple in the hospital with their newborn and says, "How did it all start?" and goes backwards through the pregnancy and wedding and dating and every single time I see it it makes me cry (and I'm getting choked up now just thinking about it).

Sometimes I remember that I'm still the same girl, but sometimes it's hard because, so far, everything is so freaking different than it was. And that doesn't mean it's bad-- I love this little screaming, pooping person more than I can get my head around-- but everyone always says the first six weeks or so is the hardest and I have to believe that's right. The sleep is so spotty and I'm breastfeeding so I'm kind of chained to her until I get her to take a bottle (hopefully next week) and Dan and I aren't really sleeping together because I'm not really sleeping, and she's crying now and has been for about ten minutes so I can't even call you like I'd really rather do, so this is what you get.

I'm typing with one hand while I hold her with the other because, apparently, it was far too lonely in her bassinet. And having said all of this, my real fear-- aside from that, despite my 22-pound weight loss in 3 weeks, I will never get back into my jeans-- is that I won't live in this moment enough to appreciate it before it's gone. She's already grown so much. As much as I complain about going stir crazy, I know I will miss this time when my whole responsibility is resting and caring for her. Even when I'm deliriously tired at 3 AM, there is nothing in this world that compares to my little daughter falling asleep on my chest. Which is what she's doing now.

And despite all these whiplash changes, or perhaps because of them, I do desperately miss my friends. I feel like I have nothing to share, as my world has at once become quite big and very small. But please don't hesitate to call me. Most of the time I don't know where my phone is and I might not pick up, but I'm finally emerging from a three-week haze and would love to talk. And the monkey will eventually fall asleep, which means I will eventually call you back.

Thank you for checking in with me; your friendship is very important to me, no matter how jealous I am of your vacations and continued ability to type with both hands.

Love,
c