Lydia Anne is 1 week old today. It has been a whirlwind couple of days that all seem to bleed together in my memory. At some point I lost all sense of days and nights in the strange unsleeping world that is the hospital, which thankfully had a coffee machine and no breathalyzer test required to analyze my caffeine levels before providing me with another steaming beverage.
The hospital released us back into the wild on Sunday, and by that I mean we were finally allowed to go home. Exhausted, but filled with joy we limped our way to the mini van and nearly got blown back indoors by the remnants of the wintery hurricane we’d been observing from the warm confines of room 106. Welcome back to the wild.
I feel like the past few days were summed up in my brief interaction with the garbage man yesterday. I was in the process of trying to herd my toddler into the car as he pretended to be a ferocious dinosaur. I feel like he was the only ready to be back in the wild. So, There I was chasing him around the minivan when he stopped and yelled, “look! The trash truck.” In my sleep deprived state I stared at the truck admiring the quickness with which the men were moving. Then the piles of poopy diapers stacked up in the trash can came to mind and I tried to recall what day it was. It was Wednesday. Shoot. That was our trash day! I forgot the hungry T-rex now roaming stomping across the front yard chasing a grey squirrel and ran for the garbage.
I was hustling down the driveway with boxes falling out of the recycling bin as the trash truck drove by. “Crap!” I felt entitled to use that word after being up to my elbows in bright yellow crap all week thanks to the cute little poop machine also known as Lydia Anne. I made eye contact with the gentleman hanging off the back of the truck and he must have seen the desperation in my eyes. Or perhaps it was my wrinkled clothes or my disheveled hair that caused him to have mercy on me. He whistled to the driver and the trash truck came to a stop and began to back up.
He hopped off the garbage truck with a strong reminder for me. “You’re supposed to have your trash out the night before.”
“Sorry,” I eked. “I have a 6-month old daughter. I mean, a 6 day old daughter.”
He laughed. “Probably feels like 6 months. Congratulations. ”
Yes, I guess that about sums it up. It feels like there has been 6 months of life squeezed into the past 6 days, and I’m sure in the blink of an eye Lydia will be 6 months old and then 6 years and then sixteen. Life in the wild goes quickly. Bring on the coffee, because I’m going to do my best to stay awake and enjoy every second.