One Year Wrap-Up: We Survived!

OK, technically it hasn’t quite been a year yet — Bubba won’t actually turn one till Saturday. But in anticipation of his first birthday, I’ve been in a reminiscing sort of mood, pouring over the thousands of photos I’ve taken of the dear lad and alternating between smiling at all the happy memories and getting choked up as I wonder where all the time went (ugh, could I be any cornier? I’m rolling my eyes at myself so you don’t have to).

Somehow it simultaneously feels like it’s been five minutes and five years since we went from this:

(taken exactly one year ago today!)

To this:

And then, seemingly in a blink of the eye, this:

So what have we been doing this past year? I’m so glad you asked! Let’s pull out the ol’ TI-89 and crunch the numbers (because everything’s more fun when quantified!):

5: Number of hours post-birth it took me to realize that I really and truly wasn’t going to get any sleep for a long, long time. I cried.

3: Maximum number of consecutive hours the baby slept for the first six weeks of his life. Here’s a sampling of my agony, courtesy of Facebook:

3: Days it took me to admit that I HATED breastfeeding (I’m sorry, Bubba!).

7: Weeks I managed to keep up the nursing (purely motivated by guilt!) before I finally allowed myself to quit (I’m so sorry, Bubba!).

100 to 1: Ratio of feelings of relief versus guilt I’ve experienced since putting the kibosh on the boob-feeding (apparently I wasn’t really all that sorry).

$960: Approximate number of dollars we’ve spent on formula since then.

5: Minutes I spent gagging after calculating that just now.

300: Approximate number of times I cried during the first month of Bubba’s life.

99: Percentage of said cry-fests that were a direct result of lack of sleep (“I’m so….sob, hiccup, sob…TIRED!!!!”).

1: Number of times I cried because I wanted to consume a giant fountain Dr. Pepper but couldn’t because I feared the caffeine might seep into my breastmilk and make the baby’s sleep issues worse (this one may or may not have been due to the lack of sleep as well, to be fair. That, and fountain Dr. Pepper is just so good).

4: Months it took Bubba to even begin to master the art of sleeping through the night.

10: Number of times I woke up to check on him that first glorious sleep-filled night, certain that something was wrong with him.

2: Average number of times I wake up to check on him during the night nowadays, still unconvinced that he could really be sleeping so peacefully for so many uninterrupted hours.

1,825: Number of times TFW has rolled his eyes and said “the baby is FINE!” in reply to one of my neurotic fears (figuring conservatively at 5 times per day).

8: Months it took for my tailbone (which somehow sustained an injury during labor; were you aware that was possible? I sure wasn’t) to heal. EIGHT MONTHS!

9: Months it took me to lose the baby weight. I’m still getting over the shock — I was certain I was going to give birth to a 30 pound baby. Six pounds?!

2: Pairs of pre-baby jeans that STILL DON’T FIT. These hips don’t lie 😦

<10: Number of times TFW and I have gone out sans baby. Maybe next year…

2,000+: Number of photos I’ve taken of the poor kid. And unlike some of these other figures, this is sadly not an exaggeration.

10: Number of times per day I have to restrain myself from posting gushing/bragging baby-related photos and statuses to Facebook lest I irritate every human gracious enough to put up with me (and I’m sure I still manage to annoy people with the few items I do share…but seriously, if you don’t enjoy photos of a cute baby trying to climb into various boxes and baskets, perhaps the internet is not the place for you).

54,750: Number of times I’ve told Bubba I love him (figuring conservatively at 150 times per day).

0: Number of moments I’ve regretted having this child.

Uh oh, I’m getting all sappy and teary-eyed again…

OK, I’m smiling again.