Nostalgic already

Tonight I packed up the onesie Clementine wore home from the hospital, along with a few other little outfits that were once too big for her and now strain across her belly and chest. I remember how they once gaped at her arms and legs and how long it would take us to get her into them because we were so afraid of breaking her or doing something wrong. Those first sweet little outfits are too precious to get rid of, so I'm packing them away for now. It makes me a little nostalgic for those weeks when she was first ours, how we would creep around her little slumbering body wondering why she was sleeping so much. Seriously, we used to try to wake her up so we could play with her more--what a reversal since now all we do is try to get her to go back to sleep. As much as I love all her new tricks, her independence, the personality she is forming with every passing day, I miss that sleepy, wriggly little creature we brought home with us.

Know what else I miss? Being pregnant. I know some women hate being pregnant more than anything, but I loved every single second of it--even the nausea. For one thing, I love having secrets. I felt that secret with every single step I took in the outside world. Even when I was fully showing, I felt full of some sort of secret or hidden potential. I had that feeling you have when you're standing up on something high getting ready to jump off--that awareness, the flexing in your toes, the full weight of what you're about to do and the total uncertainty. Anything could happen. I also felt triumphant the whole time, especially when hauling my ass to the gym or to a meeting I could easily have skipped by playing the pregnant card. I mean, look at all the shit I was doing when I could have been lolling around on the sofa. And as much as I complained about how people stare at, fondle and inappropriately offer advice to pregnant ladies, there were times I felt like a movie star, like all eyes were one me as I emerged from my car and walked toward the door of the supermarket. I felt kind of special.

And it's not that I don't feel special now--it's just a different kind. Not much has actually changed in that regard: I still feel like I'm the edge of a canyon and don't know what's waiting for me at the bottom after I jump, and I still feel like it's a triumph if I get out the door with a kid, her stuff, my stuff and all that. And I guess I still feel a little like a movie star now and then when people whisper about how cute my kid is as I walk by (I assume that's what they're whispering about and not my dirty, uncombed hair). It is the same as-of-yet-unrealized potential, the same emotions, and yet it is all different. Better in many ways (waiting to meet this little bundle was killing me), but since there is no going back it's hard for me not to feel like I've missed part of it or didn't enjoy it enough while it was happening. That's part of the nostalgia, I think--I want a do-over, and this time I'll know what to pay attention to.

When I get nostalgic for this weekend, please remind me that I didn't sleep at all the last two nights. Clementine has a perpetual runny nose since entering daycare, and this weekend it really caught up with her. She has a hard time breathing when she's sleeping on her back, so when the snorting and wheezing get to be too much she does this crazy not-awake-not-quite-asleep screaming that is a joy at 3 a.m. Nate has been great with the early shift, and I usually follow at 4 to get us through to the morning. It's grueling, but it's hard to feel bad for myself when I can see how miserable darling C. feels. Her eyes get all puffy, and she doesn't know what to do with all the snot. She bucks like a deranged bronco when I try to wipe her nose, and she can't ever find a way back to sleep on her own. We walk the floors with her as she screams, then coos, then drifts off into a very tentative oblivion. She has trouble staying asleep even when she's damn tired with all the snot building up in the back of her throat. The only way to calm her down, we've found, is to prop ourselves up on the couch and let her sleep on our chests. On the one hand, being awake and uncomfortable totally sucks, especially when I can't reach the remote control and don't want to move and wake her from her little snoring sleep. On the other hand, these are the moments I know I will miss (and already do in many ways now that she holds her head up and in always looking around instead of snuggling close). I try hard to enjoy them when I can.