The Fog of War, or Rather, We Had a Baby!

From Wikipedia:
“The fog of war is the uncertainty in situational awareness experienced by participants in military operations. The term seeks to capture the uncertainty regarding own capability, adversary capability, and adversary intent during an engagement, operation, or campaign.”

If that hasn’t been our life since September 14th, 2012, I’m not sure what has. What was the 14th you ask? Well, the most intense day of my life thus far: I finally met my little Baby S. Her name is Anne (for her Nana) Elektra (for my Nuna). She is both insanely adorable and insanely hungry. Which, well, is of course a good thing for her growth, my confidence in my ability to actually nurse her, my calorie burning, my wallet, etc. But not so much for that whole sleep thing. They tell you that you’ll never sleep again – they being people who must secretly want you to be as worn out as they were – and they’re right.

Holy shitballs, man.

I have never been so excited to see my bed at the end of the day, but take note that the end of the day is now 2am, and my respite is short before Annie starts all over again, usually at 5am. It’s like my boobs turn on the ugly lights at last call, and Annie stumbles to a friend’s dorm room, passing out for a few hours before waking up to rally bright and early before the big homecoming game. Every day. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.

I can’t tell you how my brain has basically melted in the past two weeks. Let’s leave out for minute (or for a few posts, maybe someday, maybe not) the actual “birth story” and all the physical effects of the whole shebang and stick with what I like to call “baby-onset Alzheimer’s”. BOA has led me to put the butter in the pantry, try to recycle a poopy diaper, spend too much time talking about a poopy diaper, and to think “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” is a good idea, amongst other transgressions.

But then, you look at that little face and you can’t not “awwwwwwww” in endless pride. Especially when she poops all over her daddy. Way to go, champ!

 

Annie at one week old

 

Annie at two weeks old, at Linvilla Orchards. I’m stoked she was born at the height of Pumpkinland time :). Clearly she was enamored….