I am, at the moment, completely alone in my house. Well, technically, Gemma and I are alone. And Monday’s here. (Can’t forget about her. Wish I could, but I can’t.) But really? It’s just like being alone and that NEVER happens.

As I may or may not have Maria Von Trapp-ed my dizzy self around the living room, I had to laugh. It came back so vivid those days when Max was just a few weeks old and I sat a complete, exhausted wreck and wished for some time alone. I look with sympathy on that new mama but also want to point and guffaw at her. “You’re kidding, me, right?! Seriously it’s ONE BABY.” I’m heartily glad I can’t really do that, but still. . .

It’s funny how perspective changes things. How time or experience or -let’s be honest- meds can entirely change the color of a given situation. On our way to an errand last week, Mama Syd chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah. Watching you and Jac last night. . . You’re not the same parents you were with Max. No comparison. Not even close.”

She was right. We were young (which was good) and nervous and trying so hard to prove we could do it. We spent a good deal of time telling Max that we didn’t know what we were doing and apologizing for our blunders. It was a lot a self conscious anxiety in one place.

What I really wish is that I could go back to that first time mom and tell her to relax. When she is having a panic attack in the mall parking lot whilst attempting to discreetly nurse a hysterical newborn all the while convinced that everyone in the vicinity and the I-90 corridor can see what she is doing, I would tell her that someday she will laugh while Gemma’s yet-to-be-eaten lunch makes it’s appearance on her shirt from the inside out in a busy restaurant. I would tell her to sleep when that one baby slept instead of watching Dr. Phil with bleary eyes, pretending that she was going to clean something/take a shower/do some laundry. I would tell her to quit being a martyr and just make herself some lunch. Put the babe in a bouncy seat and heat up some soup, for-crying-out-loud. If the baby cries in the minute and twenty-five seconds it takes to heat up a meal, he will live, YOU will live and you can hold him then. Lay him across your lap and fill you belly because life just looks better when you’re full.

Mostly, though, I’d want her to know that she would survive this and go on to one day be a well seasoned mom who can look back and laugh over it all and really, truly appreciate the simplicity of one.