I’ve been thinking for weeks about how to capture in blog post form the intense joy and terror of becoming a new father. Having Lila has been amazing and overwhelming. Every time I’ve tried to capture the experience in words, I found it indescribable. But I can’t just say it’s indescribable. That sounds pretentious. Plus, this would be a pretty short blog post.

So let’s start with the obvious. Fatherhood is life-altering in every sense of the word. Becoming a dad makes you examine everything you are, everything you have ever been, only to find it all inadequate. What qualifications could I possibly have that entitle me to take responsibility for an entire human life? Why didn’t I prepare more? What have I been doing with my life? Why did I spend so much time memorizing the biographies of the six characters who have served as Batman’s sidekick Robin and so little time learning the kinds of skills that could truly benefit me now, like CPR, or woodworking, or starting a fire by rubbing sticks together? Can you actually start a fire by rubbing sticks together? If you can, it seems like something a dad should know.

But the deeper, scarier realization is that you cannot prepare. Not really. We read all the hot books – your Baby Whisperer and Happiest Baby on the Block and What to Expect When You’re Expecting – and they were immensely helpful. But being a dad, like tightrope walking, is something you can only learn by doing. Which means on day one, you know almost nothing. And day two isn’t much better. A colleague and father of two recently told me “I can tell you with all confidence, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He meant no offense, but he has me pegged. He has every new dad pegged. In fact, he has every dad pegged. Just as you’re getting used to a phase in your child’s life, they up and change on you, bringing a whole new set of challenges. It’s the more intense version of teaching a new class, where you’ve read only a few pages ahead of the students. But in this case, you’re chapters behind.

And then there’s the crying. Before becoming a dad, I naively feared changing poopy diapers most of all. US Weekly’s cover recently proclaimed that Eric Johnson, Jessica Simpson’s fiancé, had the same fear (this information about Jessica Simpson’s fiancé is more useless knowledge that doesn’t help me start fires with sticks). Eric and I, poor bastards both, had no idea. Changing diapers is no picnic, but it pales next to those early weeks of crying. The constant crying of a newborn baby elicits a unique form of terror, frustration, and powerlessness. Anna and I spent those first few weeks shell-shocked. Between the two of us, we probably spent 15 hours a day rocking her, holding her near the hairdryer, bouncing her on an exercise ball (to add insult to injury, Anna is a significantly better bouncer than I am). And we were the lucky ones, with a good baby who calmed down in just a few weeks and sleeps long stretches at night. If you want to know if you’re ready to become a dad, hire an actor from your local community theater to follow you around and scream in your ear for two straight weeks. If you don’t murder the person, odds are you’re ready. If you do murder the person, hide the body in the dumpster behind O’Charleys and get a low maintenance pet, like a chinchilla.

But the crying is worth it. The poop is worth it. The crushing self-doubt is worth it. Anything is worth it in the moments when she wraps her five tiny fingers around just one of mine, or when she falls asleep on my chest. From the instant I saw my daughter, I felt something I have never felt for anyone else. I love my family and friends, and I love my wife more than ever now that I’ve seen the strength and compassion she brings to motherhood. But love for a child is just different. It comes so quickly, and feels almost primal. It is a feeling of obligation and accomplishment. It endures despite and because of incredible paradoxes. I love her because she is so vulnerable, yet so stubborn and feisty. I am a part of her, yet on some level she will always be a mystery to me. And I will love her most deeply, most fully, by slowly pushing her away.

I cannot wait to see who she becomes as she grows up. I cannot wait to get to know her at every phase of her life. But in the years as she grows older, starts school, leaves for college, gets married, and as I grow older and eventually die in that tragic Sasquatch hunting mishap, I’ll remember the experiences of rocking my daughter while she falls asleep as some of the purest, most tender moments of human connection I’ve ever felt. It is, for all my effort, a connection that cannot be put into words.

Our Memorial Day was spent relaxing by the pool…which was perfect!

(Sizing up the competition?)

It’s already pretty hot here in Louisiana, so spending the day in the pool was a hit with everyone:

Well, almost everyone:

The water is still a little cold for Lila, so she basically spent the day passed out on my lap.  She’ll get in the pool eventually!

After a while, we took a break from swimming to enjoy some lunch:

Pulled pork sandwiches (this pork was SO good, but unfortunately my dad made it, and he cooks pretty much without a recipe whenever he makes anything…sorry I don’t have it to share!), corn, Asian slaw, and fruit salad.  This fruit was so good—it was just cantaloupe and watermelon balls that had been marinated in lime juice, minced mint, and grated ginger.  So easy and so refreshing.

Some of us were too busy making faces to eat:

Goofball.

Hope you had a nice holiday!

I know I disappeared on you—sorry about that!  Sometimes I find that when I decide to take one day off from blogging…it turns into two…then three…then seven. 

Ryan and I drove with the dogs over to Shreveport last week, and since then, we’ve basically just been spending time with my family.

Lila is spending LOTS of time with her dog pack:

My parents’ dog Dudley is very interested in Lila…but Baxter has taken on the role of bodyguard, and makes sure that Dudley never gets *too* close:

…and spending lots of time with cousin Sophie too,  of course:

…who has decided that she, also, is still a baby. 

We’ve even managed to sneak in a few naps:

…and yesterday, we had a sip ‘n’ see in Lila’s honor.  She did great—slept for the first hour, being passed around from friend to friend, and then woke up rested and happy.  She’s been smiling more and more—but I’ve yet to capture it on camera. 

We took some family pictures yesterday, but it took a few tries:

…to get some good ones:

Hope you have a great Memorial Day!

OR.

Alternatively, a day when your baby wakes up at 4:30, then again at 6:00, and then you go into the bathroom to find a giant roach hanging out on the bathmat.  Also: I found a tick in my hair last night.

I found a TICK.  In my HAIR.

So, that’s how our weekend shaped up.

At last we had a good meal on Friday night.  I made this easy pesto:

…with the arugula we had leftover from our farmers’ market purchases.  We tossed the pesto with fresh tomatoes (also from the fm) and pasta, and dinner was served. 

For the pesto, in the food processor I combined: 2 cups arugula, 1/4 cup olive oil, and about 3/4 cup grated parmesan cheese, plus a little shake of garlic salt.  Very easy, and the arugula gives the pesto a little bit of a kick.

We’re thinking we might attempt to go to church this morning, which could be nice, or could go very, very poorly.  On the one hand: Lila could have a total meltdown.  On the other hand: we get to have HUMAN CONTACT for an hour.

Wish us luck!  Hope you have a great Sunday. 

Lila did great too—we stayed for about an hour, and she slept for the most part.  She’s getting better and better about liking her car seat and the stroller, which is a huge relief.

Since we were already at the market, we picked up goods to make dinner:

Simple summer sandwiches with fresh tomato slices, spicy SPICY arugula, and lavender goat cheese, all on still-warm bread.  Pretty delicious.  

I just got back from a Pure Barre class, and soon I’m headed to my doctor for my six week post-partum checkup—I can’t believe six weeks have passed already! Hopefully everything checks out okay…wish me luck!

Last night, we had a quintessential summer meal:

A big spinach salad, topped with grilled shrimp, grilled corn, avocado, and goat cheese.  Didn’t even need dressing!

Fresh, sweet corn is always a big signifier of summer for me.  The first time I *really* had corn was in grad school in Indiana—I’d obviously eaten corn before that, but I had no idea that it could taste SO good.  My parents drove up to help me move into my new digs, and we all visited the local farmers’ market together.  We bought some corn, and were blown away by just how good it was.  In fact, my parents bought a bunch to take back home to give to their friends…and they ended up just eating all of it themselves!   We still laugh about that.

What summer food are you looking forward to? 

But are you all that surprised?  It took me like three years to join Twitter, and then after I joined, I promptly tweeted twice and then kind of forgot all about it. 

But I’m back on Twitter.  And I joined Instagram.  Spending 20 hours a day glued to a bouncing exercise ball with only your phone to occupy you will do that to a girl.

I’m still kind of “meh” about Twitter—I know this is kind of a grandma thing to say, but I just…don’t get it. 

But Instagram? 

Instagram I love. 

It’s just so easy.  And fun.  And…addictive.  I foresee many Instagram posts in my future.  Here are some of the pics I’ve posted so far, including today’s lunch:

Are you on Instagram?  I’m loweanna, if you’re interested in following pictures of dogs, babies, and summer!

…including the little baby that I used to nanny for:

…who is now ALL grown up:

Crazy!

Jodi was excited to hold the baby:

Will was not quite as thrilled:

Enjoy being an only child while it lasts, kiddo!

Ryan fulfilled a lifelong dream of eating a restaurant-prepared Bacon Burger Dog (which he has actually discussed on the blog before, because you really can’t discuss a Bacon Burger Dog too many times):

He said it was everything he’d dreamed it would be.

This conversation happened, via text message, conveniently about ten minutes after Ryan left the house to “run errands”:

…and someone, subsequently, got a bath:

On Sunday, after Jodi and Nathaniel and Will headed back to St. Louis, we celebrated my very first Mother’s Day:

…bouncing on the ball.  Where else? 

Hope you had a GREAT weekend—thanks so much for all of the comments and e-mails regarding my last post. 

Happy Monday!

Mommy Guilt: I’ve got it.  Bad.

In fact, I had it even before Lila gasped her first breath.  My Mommy Guilt started during pregnancy—a common occurrence, I’m sure.  I felt guilty from the very beginning—guilty that I wasn’t giving up coffee, guilty that I resented the pregnancy for taking away my wine, guilty that the artificial sweeteners I hadn’t completely cut from my diet meant that Lila was going to come out with a tail and three ears.  And most of all, I felt guilty that I wasn’t excited enough about the (unplanned) pregnancy.  I felt guilty for my anxiety, and for the fact that when I saw the two blue lines on my pregnancy test, my reaction wasn’t one of pure joy—in fact, I distinctly remember thinking, “Shit.” 

My negative thoughts about the pregnancy ultimately did transform into excitement and happiness and gratitude, but it certainly took me a while to get there.

And now that I’m plunging into actual motherhood, the Mommy Guilt is back in full force.  Turns out that what I thought was Mommy Guilt during pregnancy was only the tip of the iceberg. 

When you’re a mother, there are things to feel guilty about during every second of every minute of every hour of every day. 

My baby drinks formula, and I feel guilty about it.  Instead of staring blissfully into Lila’s eyes during our feedings, I sometimes play Angry Birds on my phone, and I feel guilty about it.  I feel guilty that I feel relieved when Lila goes down for a nap.  I feel guilty that instead of reading baby and parenting books, I’m eagerly awaiting Lauren Conrad’s next tome (actually, I think my guilt about that one stems from being an English teacher, but regardless…).  I choose to go to an exercise class instead of snuggling with Lila for an extra hour in the morning, and I feel guilty about it.  I resent my new “mommy belly,” and I feel guilty about it.

And most of all, I worry that I don’t feel guilty enough about any of these things…and then I feel guilty about that.

I spend a lot of time reading blogs of new mothers, and I’ve noticed a startling (for me, anyway) trend—there seems to be a tendency for new moms to say things like…

I can’t imagine being away from my baby—the minute she goes down for a nap, I miss her.

Even on his worst days, I wish time would just slow down!

…and, perhaps most pervasively…

I can’t even remember life before our baby.

I read statements like this, and I just think…really?  Like, REALLY?! 

When Lila goes down for a nap, my first thought is almost always, “Thank fucking god.”  I’m already looking forward to our first childless vacation.  On Lila’s worst days, it’s a struggle for me not to call the hospital and ask about their return policy.  And, finally, I definitely still remember life before Lila…and it was awesome. 

We traveled every summer.  We met up with friends for spontaneous beers on random Tuesday nights.  We slept as late as we wanted, and stayed up late drinking wine and cooking elaborate dinners and just enjoying each other.

How could I forget all this?  And, more importantly, why would I want to?  The notion that, after childbirth, a mother forgets everything that came before is one that disturbs me.  I love Lila, but I also love my husband, and I love myself, and I loved those days before we had a child.  I’m incredibly grateful that we took the time to be with each other just as a couple before having Lila, and, if I’m totally honest, there are definitely days when I miss our pre-child identities. 

One thing I’m learning about motherhood is that many, many women like to treat it as a competition.  Who can breastfeed the longest?  Who can raise the smartest kid?  Whose kid is smiling/rolling over/crawling/walking/talking first?  Who is the happiest mother?

Who cares?

Sometimes it seems like admitting that motherhood is difficult, or challenging, or uninspiring, is like admitting some sort of defeat—a defeat that makes you “lesser than” as a mom. 

Why are we so reluctant to admit that raising a child is hard?

When you give birth, people send you all sorts of cards and messages and e-mails congratulating you on your big accomplishment, and assuring you that motherhood is simply the best.  I was happy to receive the positivity in those messages, but I was much, much more grateful when one of Ryan’s cousins sent me this message, regarding the transition to parenthood:

It’s fucking impossible.  Who ever thought bringing home a baby would be so ridiculous?

I read those words, and I thought, Thank you.  It felt like such a relief to know that I wasn’t the only one who found all of the late night feedings and diaper changes and hours of crying difficult—in fact, fucking impossible.  Just knowing that I wasn’t alone in my feelings made me feel a little less guilty about them.

When Mother’s Day rolls around this Sunday, I want to celebrate all of what it means to be a mother—the good, the bad, and the ugly.  The failures and the successes.  The pride and, yes, the guilt.  If you’re a mother, I hope you will too.

Anywho.

I got some kale and pineapple to make this salad:

Tropical massaged kale salad with pineapple and cucumber.  Delicious—I just massaged the kale with sesame oil, tamari, lime juice, and a little chili sauce, and then added the pineapple and cucumber and let it sit for about an hour.  Very refreshing!

I also stopped by the fish counter and picked up a few tuna steaks…

…which must have been made of gold, because before I knew it, I’d spent half of Lila’s college fund on freakin’ tuna.  The price sign was upside down when I ordered the tuna and I couldn’t really read it, so I was in for quite a shock when I saw the price sticker on my little bundle of fish.  I resisted the urge to ask the man behind the counter if the tuna was crusted in diamonds.  Still, I was too embarrassed to give it back.  So last night, we enjoyed a very expensive tuna dinner. 

It was all very “Jessica Simpson buying underwear on the first season of Newlyweds”:

Skip forward to 6:30 to see the scene I’m referring to.  Or watch the entire clip and get a little misty-eyed about the way things were for those two crazy kids back when tuna was still chicken, and Maxwell Drew was just a faint 10 lb. twinkle in Jessica’s eye. 

God I miss Newlyweds. 

Hope you have a wonderful Wednesday! Off to a Pure Barre class…