So.. guess what! I’m not pregnant anymore! In fact, I haven’t been for nearly months. Months–plural! Can you believe that? A little tiny person came out of me and I’ve been keeping him alive for months (plural). I’m pretty impressed with myself. Also.. I’m pretty sure he’s pretty cute. Or everyone is lying to me and I have major, major mama goggles. But I’m pretty sure.
Can I just say how bizarre it is to try for something like 38 weeks (considering you’re not actually pregnant the first two weeks) to imagine what your little will look like? And then he comes out and you’re like, whoa.. you are not what I expected. But that’s because they’re gross and their heads are misshapen and they’re covered in goo and their eyes hardly open and you’re like what ARE you?! But then he’s alive for like an hour or two and starts to look more human, and he starts to look exactly like what you pictured, but also not like what you pictured at all because you no longer have any clue what you pictured and all you can see in your mind is this perfect, tiny little thing.. who just happens to be staring straight into the baby monitor even after I spent 20 minutes singing the first verse of “Once Upon a Dream” on repeat and rocking him in his favorite way and quadruple swaddling him because that little worm is a Houdini for sure and can pop out of anything short of duct tape. Am I making sense? I just have so much to say because, because, because.. because I missed you and so much has happened! I wish you could come over, even though I’ll be wearing pajama pants and no makeup and my hair will look like one of those Pinterest fails and my belly still pooches out like I’m a few months pregnant. But we would catch up and I could shove Leo in your face and make you tell me how cute he is, and wouldn’t that be fun? I think it would be. If you don’t, just don’t say anything. I’m still sensitive, y’all.
So.. look at my offspring! I made him. Isn’t he cute?! I’m obsessed with him and spend most of the day saying “look at his little fingers/toes/belly/bottom/nose/eyelashes” and squealing with adoration. Yep.. I’m that girl. I’m yo’ mama!*
Newborn pictures! I managed to get a gassy little smile at a few days old..
I also posed little man in a makeshift pumpkin patch, because I’m mean mean mean. And this outtake is hysterical – he’s got some erm, expressive hands, that one.
But I love this the most! In grandma’s arms after his mean mama made him pose in a basket outside in October. Full disclosure, it was a seasonable uh, 75º that day. Fall was absent this year for us.
We took him to a real pumpkin patch and I was weird:
And here’s my little goose smiling at his mama! If your heart doesn’t swell at that sweet little face, you’re dead inside.
And I took this a few days ago, absolutely joyous that he was finally napping. Have you heard of the Wonder Weeks? They’re like growth spurts for the mind, and they come with a bunch of exciting symptoms like fussiness, tons of crying, wanting to nurse all the time, and not napping without severe threats, basically. We’re currently in the second one and laaaaaaa-oving it**.
So, I thought I would drop in and tell you that a) I’m not pregnant anymore (Thank the heavens, you guys. Thank the heavens.) b) Leo is stinkin’ cute and c) uh…. baby spam! There’s more internet drivel to come from me soon! That being said, the blog is bound to change. My entire life has been changed by this tiny human and my days revolve around nursing and naps and easy quick meals and everything I thought was super lame until, oh, seven and a half weeks ago. I hate to lose readers, but I also just have to be totally true to what life is all about for me these days–I don’t totally know what that means just yet, so hang in there with me and be flexible, dear reader. When I changed the name of the blog to 40 Aprons, I had this in mind–I wanted something versatile that covered a variety of topics, like a food and home and mama-based play on “wearing many hats”. Make sense? Cool! I’m surprised, considering how many (not many) hours of sleep I got last night.
And the night before that. And the night before that, too. And…
*I’m only Leo’s mama. That’s it. So the “yo[ur]” is only in relation to one potential reader, like.. minimum twenty-five years from now, because there’s no way I’m letting my squishes read this blog with all my foul language and run-on sentences until their formative years have way, way passed.
**Actually not loving it at all.1