If there's a "before"...

I chopped the bulk of my hair off recently.

Someone asked me why today, and I replied very matter-o'-factly, "I looked in the mirror, and realized I bore a striking resemblance to those "before" pictures you see in makeover stories."

The haircut was a good first step, but at a GW event I was at today, a "business attire" lecture by Stephen Hawking, I realized that the rest of the image - make-up (or lack thereof), yellowed teeth, frumpy shapeless sweater and too-big black pants (because I broke the zipper on the almost-fit-slightly-too-small-but comfortable other black pants I usually go for) - still needs a lot of work.

You know it's bad when you're the least stylish person in a room full of astrophysicists.

It's a lot

One of the funny things I've noticed about motherhood is just how overwhelming it can be. That's in both a good and bad way.

As I rocked Baby to sleep in the glider tonight, after reading "The Cat in the Hat," I found myself getting all choked up, and then crying. Part of it was because I can't believe he's almost eight months old already. The sight of the little stuffed "Special Delivery" stork in his room brought me to tears. How has it been so long already? And how did I get so lucky to be his mom? How did we get so lucky to be his parents? Talking to my pregnant friend/co-worker today, who has a due date just about a year after ours, I can't believe how much more intense and emotional I feel now, and how all that kicking and moving around I felt wasn't a separate, different being. It was Baby, the little person we're still getting to know, and getting to love more each minute. And I didn't think that was possible.

I so used to mock motherly sentiments like this, and always shook my head at friends who told me, "Oh, you'll understand some day." OK, you were right. All of you. I hereby rescind my mocking.

But on the flip side, it's hard. It's a constant treadmill, with very few, if any, breaks. There's always another place you're supposed to be, another bottle to wash, another pumping session to make sure there are enough bottles tomorrow, another pick up to desperately try not to be late to, another bag to pack and prep.

And then there's the emotion. Worries about family, and the job. Missing my friends, who I can't seem to even find a decent 15 minutes to make a quick phone call to, and suddenly six months has gone by. Wanting to reach out to everyone at once, and feeling like I'm not doing a good job for any.

As C. said tonight, as he very kindly prepared dinner as I fed and prepped Baby for bed, "It's a lot."

It is. I love it all, and struggle with it all. A lot.

Actually

C. recently came to the conclusion that he and I both overuse the word "Actually" an insane amount.

He pointed this out during our basement cleaning marathon Sunday. No, we don't, I protested.

And then proceeded to use "actually" in at least four instances in the next hour.

Actually, maybe he's right.