Dear Max and Rebecca
I have some weird questions of life lately. These questions come up when I’m feeding and my mind wonders, or when I’m standing in the kitchen aimlessly, trying to remember what I went in there for, or when I’m wondering if I took my vitamins two minutes ago, or just imagined it, etc.
These are questions on my tired mind at the moment:
- Will I ever remember with 100% certainty if I took my vitamins
- Will I stop getting names confused, like calling the dog Max instead of Henri, and asking for coffee when I actually mean tea
- Will the extra flap of skin on my stomach from pregnancy ever disappear?
- Will the breast pads ever stop disappearing? And where do they all go to?
- Will I ever go to Paris again?
- Where does all the milk come from?
- Will I ever be able to run long distance again?
- Will I ever start feeling like the parent? I mean, I *know* I’m a parent and I don’t neglect my duties, but there are times, especially with you Rebecca, because I don’t see much resemblance between us, that I feel like I’m just looking after you until someone else comes to fetch you. It’s got nothing to do with not bonding or not loving enough, and more to do with that feeling of “This is so surreal. I am a mother. Of two. Can’t be, right? I mean, I know they came out of my body in the theatre, but I still can’t believe I’m a mom.”
- Is there a reliable way to remember if I put on my sunscreen or not?
- Will I ever be able to apply eyeshadow decently, after watching several tutorials on YouTube while expressing?
- Will I ever lose the pregnancy weight, and the pre-pregnancy weight too, come to think of it?
- Will I ever not rock a trolley, thinking it’s a pram and there’s a baby inside? Last week I caught myself rocking a mini trolley (the ones with the baskets inside).
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