You know, the joke (in the movies, anyway) is that couples who leave their babies at home for the first time are total basket cases, calling home every three seconds and skipping the after-dinner movie because they just can't wait to get back to the baby.
Grandma's babysitting!
And we are going OUT.
For dinner.
A block away.
It turned out that I could not have cared less what I wore during my post-birth hospital stay, busy as I was being alternately over-the-moon elated and psychotically exhausted.
The first two weeks, I was all, "Oh my goodness, our baby? Is perfect. He never cries. I have given birth to the only baby in the world that does not cry. I am magic."
As it turns out...babies don't really cry for the first two weeks. That third week? They cry. Like the weight of the world is resting firmly on their 21-day-old shoulders.
So while I still think he's perfect...said perfection includes quite a bit of noise.
The things that have been working for me: pacing endlessly back and forth from the side of the apartment with the screaming children sounds (we live next to a school) to the side of the apartment with the ear-splitting construction sounds (we also live next to a future 2nd Avenue Subway stop), toting him around in a carrier like a little papoose while vacuuming, singing old Eagles songs (finally! someone enthusiastic about listening to my singing voice)...and an iPhone app sent straight from the gods.
