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My now six-year-old

I can't help but think about what I was doing six years ago today.

It was the day after I had given birth.  I had spent a restless night trying to sleep off the morphine and other drugs I had been given before my surprise c-section.  Guess it was a good thing that I was knocked out cold, because I was unaware of the complications with my new baby.

It was while he was in the nursery, being cleaned off and checked out that the nurses noticed that his pulse oxygen level kept dropping, meaning he wasn't getting enough oxygen.  (I'm certainly not an expert in neonatal care.  This is only a mother's foggy recollection.)  About that time the pediatrician came in.  While examining the Cheese, the doctor thought he heard a heart murmur.  So they put him in an oxygen tent and started running tests.  The doctor said that he wasn't sure if our new baby had a heart condition or if he was just having trouble making the transition into his new world.  Luckily for us it was the latter.

After spending his first twelve hours of life in the nursery and finally breathing well enough on his own, he was released to stay in the room with us.  Even though those were a scary twelve hours, it was nothing compared to what some new parents have to go through.  We were extremely fortunate that there wasn't something seriously wrong with our child, and when I get frustrated with him for whining or for peeing all over the bathroom (he's got to work on his aim) I try hard to remember that all that truly matters is that our children are both healthy and growing.

Six years ago today, I was busy learning to breast feed.  Officially losing any bashfulness that I had left over from pregnancy, I had no problem nursing in front of anyone and everyone.  (During my first outing with the baby, I quickly learned the importance of feeding schedules.  Lucky for me, Target had put out their new patio furniture, which I used to sit in and feed my starving child.)

Six years ago I was also learning how to change a diaper.  I had done a bunch of babysitting before having my own children, but the majority of it was for a family with two little girls.  Suddenly I had boy parts to deal with.  With every diaper change I was worried that I might hurt "it", especially since "it" had just been circumcised.  

During the time, I wished that someone had given me a poopie chart of some kind so that I would know what was normal and what wasn't.  With the Cheese, I did what all good first mommies do, marking the number of wet and dirty diapers down on a special chart.  I knew everything going in and coming out of my child.  I knew when, how often, and how much.  With the Monkey, typical of a second-time mommy, I did a lot of guesstimating. 

Six years ago, I was wondering how I was going to do it all, if I would be a good mommy, and what would happen if I messed up.

Six years later, I'm still wondering the same thing.