Piper is 9 months old. I can’t post her stats because A.) We don’t have a scale, B.) She didn’t have a 9 month old appointment. I was thinking recently that I still vividly remember the first few months of her life, as I haven’t yet been hit with Momnesia.

What is Momnesia? Well, from a few encounters with other moms (not all my friends, just a few random mommies), it appears some mothers forget how rough the first few months can be. Whether or not you have a “good baby” (wink wink, Kimberly Michelle!), bringing home a newborn is HARD. You’re starting from scratch- everything from nursing to bathing to functioning with an infant constantly in your arms. You’re learning how to work as a new family- this little person you’ve brought home has completely changed your priorities.

The thing is… a lot of the competitive moms (as evidenced by their habitual use of, “Oh, your baby is still XXX? Mine hasn’t done that since she was an infant!”) seem to forget that. Their babies slept through the night at 4 weeks (“Sleeping through the night” is technically 5 solid hours, but many think something like 8/9-6a is STTN like we do), yours didn’t? Their babies were reaching for them at a month. Their babies were smiling at 2 weeks- it wasn’t gas- it was smiling. It’s painful, really, to be on the receiving end of this.

Despite how well you know all babies mature at different rates (your baby could crawl early, but walk late, big deal!), you can’t help but feel like she’s putting you down. Then, insult upon injury, they say, “I’m sure your little girl will do it eventually, I wouldn’t worry”. Um, up to you saying something,  I hadn’t even thought about it, but thanks.

As I said before, I remember vividly every moment of Piper’s first six weeks. I remember bringing her home, and sitting there holding her as Paul went to my Dad’s house to get Woofie. I remember looking around, terrified to put her down. I crept to the bassinet and gently placed her in it, surrounded by white cloudy bunting, angelic. I also remember the noise that came from our baby then. Luckily (?) for us, Piper has never been a big crier, since birth she’s been more of a complainer- with grunts and whines used to convey her displeasure at various things (continuing up to now, only tears and cries are heard when she gets hurt or surprised).

At night, I remember how she’d sleep. Sure, she’d sleep a few hours at a time. On my chest. Meanwhile, I’d be wide awake, my heart beating madly, trying to find something (on our crappy no-cable tv) on past 3am, because I was POSITIVE the second I’d fall asleep she’d wake up.  Many times I’d attempt to place her in the crib, in the bassinet… nothing worked.

In case I get Momnesia, remind me of this, please. I was up all hours of the night, wandering our 1000 square foot apartment, a newborn in my arms- going to the fridge to get the gripe water, going back to her room to get the mylicon. Pacing, pacing, pacing. Her loud complaining making me try anything to get her to soothe, rocking, patting, shushing. I remember the frantic diaper changing, the nursing in the glider. Intensely I remember nursing her while the other boob leaked through my breast pad, through my tank, dripping down onto the arm of the glider. I remember falling asleep while holding her, since she had finally fallen asleep. What next? I remember waking up in a fright as I was just beginning to drop my arms to tip Piper out onto the floor. I called out, “SHIT!” Utterly horrified by what had happened.

Of course, I remember being jealous of the moms who fed their babies formula because it metabolized slower thus making them sleep longer stretches at night, since my breastmilk only kept her full for two hours. While thinking that, I also remember being thankful that I didn’t have to contend with bottles, and heating up things and measuring powders at 3am. To everything motherhood there are bright and slightly less bright sides.

Then, I remember going to bed, turning on Seinfeld (at 10pm) while Paul fell asleep. Piper was tucked into the epitome of the infant image on my chest, I had one hand cupping her tiny diaper covered tush, the other hand splayed on her back. She was sleeping and breathing on me. As per usual, I remained vigilant while the others were sleeping- watching over my daughter and listening to my husband snore, wondering how in the world a dog sneeze can wake that baby while the loud snore next to her head didn’t.  I went into my nighttime tv watching rituals- Seinfeld, then Friends, then King of the Hill, Married with Children. Piper would awaken and I’d take her into the nursery and I’d nurse her, rock her, soothe her. Eventually she’d fall back to sleep and I’d take this chance to go to sleep myself as I carried her back to our bed, climbed up on the step stool Paul got for me (super high bed), and fall alseep knowing I’d get hopefully two hours of sleep at that time. At this point she was probably five weeks old.  Paul was home for Christmas break, and he remembers waking up to me sleeping upright, with Piper shifted – she was on her knees on the bed up against my hip, hands up under her face which was turned to the side- like she was praying. She woke up this way for a week when we decided that while it was the most precious thing, it was terrifying in it’s riskiness.

I remember the first time she slept in her bassinet- it was three hours. I was overjoyed. Although I missed the soft rise and fall of her breathing on my chest every night, I was happy she was safe, and happy I could finally sleep on my side again. I also remember sleeping on my side and my boob falling out of the useless crossover sleep bra and the compression from sleeping on my side caused my boobs to leak all over the bed.

So far, I remember everything. I remember the pacing, the worrying when she’d choke on my super fast breastmilk letdown, the thinking that that time in our life would never end- and I’d never be able to sleep again. I also remember placing her in her crib for the first time and sleeping soundly for that first set of three hours because I wasn’t hating Paul for snoring and waking her up. Finally, I remember boxing up all the clothes up to nine months, knowing she’ll never, ever wear them again and crying.