My feet hurt.

No, seriously, they really do. It has nothing to do with Ben, it's because I just finished our biggest event of the year at work last night, and I decided to be girly and wear these cute little strappy silver sandals. It's been so long since I've worn cute strappy sandals that I forgot how much they can make your feet hurt. So the balls of my feet ache like you would not believe.

The good news is that it's over, and we made our goal. So it's one more year down - just time to tie up loose ends and we're done for a year. Because I was so busy all week, Gus had the lion's share of Ben duty. I think he's done fairly well. I didn't come home to find Ben hanging out of a window or riding the cats around the house (although I think he'd try to do that if he could get close enough). In fact, I came home to a pretty happy kid every night.

Spending time with Daddy has been good for both of them. I think it's pretty typical for Mom to be the one who handles most of the baby care. I know that I do, and it's not because Gus doesn't offer to help. I think it's just that there's something in me that can't keep my hands off of him if he's fussing or even if he's happy - all I want to do is get my hands on him.

And then there's the part of me who gets impatient when Gus doesn't do something fast enough...can't figure out how to button his sleeper...can't get him to settle down fast enough when I know if I can just hold him, he'll calm down within seconds. I've tried to be better about that behavior, I've tried to step back a little bit, but it's difficult. It's not that I'm intentionally trying to take over.

But after this weekend, I think there's a part of me that realizes that Gus is just as capable of taking care of Ben as I am. Yes, Ben's rather Mommy-centric most of the time, and that's not really something that either of us can help. But I worried a bit about the past few days, and I really didn't need to worry. I'm not sure why, but it just makes me feel better overall. I'm not quite ready to put the Supermom cape to rest for good, but at least I can throw it in the closet every once in awhile and not feel the need to wear it on a constant basis.

Today was one of those mornings.

Gus got up with Ben, fed him, and put him back down in his crib to play while Mommy caught up on a little sleep. I could hear him playing over the monitor - he has a colorful caterpillar that he'll pull on, suck, and talk to in his crib. Mr. Caterpillar obviously just wasn't cutting it this morning because after about five minutes, I heard a pitiful whine start up from the monitor. Since we really didn't need to be up for another half hour, I got out of bed, picked up Ben from his crib (he'd tossed Mr. C to the other side of the crib...maybe Mr. C had offended him with evil remarks about his diapers), and took him back into bed with me. He happily played with my fingers while I dozed a bit more.

In about five minutes, we'd both fallen back asleep. A cold February morning, warm blankets, and a sleeping baby right next to me...what else could I want?

So it sucked when I awoke with a start fifteen minutes later and realized I had to get us both up and ready to go - B to the baby-sitter, and me to work. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to do anything but lay there and soak in the sweetness of my little boy. Watch his sleeping face.

I've never been the type to want to be a stay-at-home-mom. I admire them, but I've never thought I could do it. Even on my maternity leave, the days were dragging into one another and I was happy to get back to the office. We're not supposed to admit that, no mother should ever admit that. But I was. It made picking him up every day even sweeter because I knew he was safe and happy, and we were both doing something we enjoyed.

But now...now that he's learning something new and amazing every day...now that he recognizes me and holds out his arms to me to be picked up...now that I realize how fleeting his babyhood really is...I find myself desperately wanting to be home with him all the time. And it hurts more than I ever expected that it can't happen. I never thought I'd be the one saying that.

He stayed with his grandparents yesterday, thanks to the desperate cold we've been having here closing school, and when I walked into their house to pick him up, he saw me. The biggest smile crossed his face when he realized I'd come home, an expression of absolute joy. And it both broke my heart and thrilled me at the same time.

I know he's happy. I know he loves going to his baby-sitter's house. I'm lucky in that I enjoy my job and my co-workers. But for the first time, I've found myself wishing that things could be different. Unfortunately, since I know things won't change right now, I have to suck it up and deal. Maybe someday, I'll be able to stay home, but someday, he won't be this age.

That's the most bitter pill to swallow.

It's been 5 1/2 months since my little guy came into the world. Five months of seeing everything new...five months of sleep deprivation...five months of wondering what the hell we got into...five months of amazement...five months of worrying that we're doing it wrong...five months of exhilarating madness.

I used to roll my eyes when a parent would go on and on about 'how much your life changes'. I'd get defensive when they said "You never really know until you have one of your own". I thought I knew how sleep-deprived I could be and still function. I thought I knew how much it would hurt when he cried and I couldn't fix it immediately. I thought I knew the joy I'd feel when he hit a milestone; when he held his head up or smiled or rolled over. I really did think I knew.

And now, looking back, I really had no idea.

It's not a bad thing that I thought I knew. I had an idea of how things would be, and for the most part, I did know. But there's something else, something that no one can know until it's there - there's this tiny invisible rod of steel that links you to your child. That's what pulls you to get up one more time in the middle of the night to feed a hungry baby. That's what yanks you to the pediatric ER on a night when he won't stop crying and won't eat and you know there's something wrong. That's the link that makes you realize that you just need to stay home and play with him one day instead of going to work. It may bend and it may feel like it stretches sometimes, but the one thing you can always count on, the one absolute truth is that it's unbreakable.

Then there are the small things, the things you wish you'd known before you did them. Like prunes. You know prunes are great for getting things moving, and you know that's why the pediatrician recommends them for constipated babies. But when you're trying new fruits and veggies with your baby, and you want to make sure he gets a taste of everything, you don't make the connection between prunes and...well. Prunes. We tried them yesterday, for breakfast and dinner, since I didn't have anything else on hand that he'd already had. Twice in one day. Then he had them again this morning. That's three times. Count 'em. Three prune meals is apparently enough to shoot through his digestive system and push out everything that's been in there for the past week. Twice.

That's one thing I wish I knew beforehand.

We're learning. And one day, we hope to be really good at this whole parenting thing. But right now, he's pretty patient with us. I can look into his eyes and see that he's amused, that he knows that we're completely clueless sometimes. But we haven't dropped him, we haven't forgotten him in a store, we've changed his diapers with minimal leakage. He knows that we love him. He knows that he's adored. And we know that he loves us, that grin he gives us is proof.

We're all getting the hang of this family thing.