I don't wake up in the morning and have to remember that this is my life now. I don't take her from James as he leaves in the morning and dread the long day ahead. At least not everyday. When she takes long naps, I've started to miss her.
I realize the signs of my "growth" make me sound like a monster. Which I'm not. The first few weeks are hard; harder than anyone told me, or, more likely, harder than I was willing to believe. There is adjustment, and sleep is the least of it. I wanted this change - want it - and I knew it would change things. I just didn't realize the scale. I've had to adjust how I viewed everything: my life, my goals, my ambitions, myself. It didn't take me weeks to learn to get by on less sleep. It took weeks to get used to imagining my life in a radically different way. To realize nothing was left untouched by this change.
Like all growth, it can be tricky to track the progress. Yesterday I found a measuring stick, and I was overwhelmed with the understanding of the depth of my love for my sweet baby. I knew that the love was there, but it's new, and I hadn't yet tested its depth.