I have heard that the first six weeks are to be thought of a "baby boot camp." And that is true. At least so far- I am hoping that boot camp does in fact end at six weeks and we have some sort of magic decrease in the exhaustion that coincides with an increase in confidence and ability to function outside of the eat-drink-poo-nap-cry maintenance plan we have in place now.

I was talking with a pregnant friend about her plans for her new job once her baby arrives. She was thinking that she would try to do some work in the first month, just scaled back a bit. I think I actually scoffed. I mean, perhaps she will be able to find time and energy to pick up a few hours of work that month, but I sure couldn't. No way. In fact, I'm not exactly sure how I got to five and a half weeks with Mahko. The time certainly didn't pass- that's for sure. Because, see, we're in a time vortex that revolves around the bebe and seems to run on a different cycle than the rest of the world. It's almost like driving back and forth between arizona and california during daylight savings days. You never know what time it is. hours appear and then disappear with no real rhyme or reason.

This little being has two very important things that reassure me of his presence: a social security card and a bank account. I don't think I had either of these until I was 15 years old. This is a reminder that he is a living, breathing being in this world and I am reminded that someone will have to pay taxes on his income... criminy. Perhaps the salt mines will take out social security for him once we put him to work. next year. I bet he could get a nice tax return too.

I am preoccupied at times with the stories of my friends who are waiting to be blessed with the goodness of infant. The waiting, the crying, the apprehension and anxiety and eventually the disbelief and cautious optimism are all so difficult to endure. I have all the respect in the universe for these women, more so because I have no idea what they really are going through. I can only imagine the emotional spectrum they endure each month, and that makes me respect them more.

I was never before a praying person. For some reason, the act of praying seemed so alien to my own spirituality. I liked to think that each day and each breath was a prayer of its own, not requiring conscious thought or process. But the past year has taught me that prayer goes beyond the daily gratefulness I practiced in the past.

During the long weeks of waiting for our lentil to be born I was constantly having changes that made me suspect he was coming any second. Towards the end the waiting became unbearable, especially after the false labor. I started to question my own ability to know when labor would start and when I would have to go to the hospital. It was a really difficult time. The friday before he was born, I went to bed with a conscious prayer that my labor would start with my water breaking. I thought to myself that having my water break would be a sure sign that he was coming, so I needed that reassurance. Before then I had been skeeved out by the whole water breaking phenomenon, and was more worried that it would happen. I had read the stats- only 10% of women's water breaks on their own without OB assistance. I was sure that I would have to fend off the crochet hook wielding OB at the hospital in another battle between natural childbirth seeking mom and intervention happy doctor.

Anyway, I prayed for the thing that skeeved me. That's how desperate I was. That night, a mere 5 hours after I made that wish, my water broke. At home, in bed. I was able to make it to the bathroom without making a huge mess even. It was the best of both worlds. And labor came immediately and the boy was born into a glorious May morning with the birds sings and the sun shining. And my prayer was answered.