As I approach the eve of my son turning 6 months tomorrow I’m filled with a sense of awe and pride by how far we’ve come.
It amazes me that it’s been 6 months since I heard his piercing wail for the first time while grinning ear to ear at my husband. Eyes locked in acknowledgement that our lives would never be the same.
The days and weeks that followed are an overwhelming blur of revolving diaper changes, marathon feeding sessions that would start again as soon as they ended, and tons of swaddling, shooshing and bouncing-whatever it took to tame his loud consistent crying (after the first wail it was no longer endearing).
It was in the midst of this chaotic haze that I robocalled every friend of mine that ever had a kid and interrogated them on why they hadn’t warned me what I was getting myself into!! Many of their smug responses threw me for even more of a loop: “I guess I forgot,” they quipped. There were a handful of friends without amnesia who offered me a bit of empathy, however just as quick as they did made a promise that I hoped more than anything might be true: “It gets better. Promise.”
6 months later I think back to this promise that carried me through the most trying of sleepless days and nights and feel beyond grateful that I wasn’t given false hope after all. Every day with my little man has been better than the last. My heart leaps out of my chest every smile and giggle he graces me with.This overwhelming sensation of love and graciousness turns itself up a notch when I have the privilege to watch my husband with him. They are such “boys” and I just love it. I honestly can’t wait to see what the next 6 months will bring and can’t wait to bestow my new found wisdom on my next round of friends getting ready to bring their little ones into the world.. I already can picture the eyes rolling as I confidently advise: it gets better…