I love my dad's hands

Witchy see, Witchy do: mothers, write!

Six months have passed and the wailing newborn has morphed into a wailing infant, able to scream, giggle, and throw things at will.


And me? I too have changed, forever it seems.

What is there to say about that which hasn't been said already 1000 different times in 1000 more eloquent ways? I feel tired and for the most part, until this week, very lonely.

Prior to Batman being born, I was overwhelmed daily with the thought of being pregnant and soon having a child to entertain. Now I am overwhelmed daily with the immediacey with which time evaporates around me. I spoke with one friend who is expecting to deliver next week (good luck Kase) and yet another friend who I just found out is pregnant (congrats, Love) -- and last, but not least, I was chatted up by a third friend who has mastered mommydom, Witchy.

Witchy was there from the very beginning, when I overwhelmed her as I grew more and more and MORE pregnant with my deepest fears and oddest questions about parenting such as "what do you need the most" and "gee this kind of sucks" and "it's supposed to come out where, HOW?!" Witchy, who was safe because I know her and beacuse she was still then a relatively new parent... not a parent who has been so for 5 or 10 or 20 years and laughs cynically because they know (and truly, you don't) exactly what you're in for.

So last night, when Witchy and I were typing away, we were lamenting how we missed each other and observing how the munchkin clan is growing ever larger. Witchy chastised me (and rightly so!) for not keeping in touch and said she missed ye olde blog. I agreed. She suggested perhaps we employ the writing of the postage stamp variety, and I'm going to take her up on that.

And it looks like I may take up ye olde blog, too. Thanks again, Witchy. You're a pearl.