Buy one, get one. Baby.

That’s just what we did. We paid for one, and my poor (now literally and figuratively) husband ended up with two babies.
Let’s back up, shall we. The tiniest Buckley, Piper Grey, arrived promptly on her March 2 due date at noon.  She’s a punctual little gal – much like her father – not a thing like her ‘always running behind’ mother, unless we’re talking solely about looks.  Our baby girl is my tiny, bald clone. A sweet reward for carrying her wiggly self for exactly 9-months.

I’ve spent 27 years fearing the foreshadowed pain of child birth. However,  I learned on March 2 that if you choose to forego the heroic natural route, and say “yes” to the epidural, the most painful part of the hospital experience is the food deprivation during labor. Note: Ice chips do not count as food – unless you’re me in 2009, and you think a 00 is a healthy size.  Oh – and the involuntary gas that spontaneously erupts once you’re numb from the waist down. That was wildly  (emotionally) painful – and my husband may never recover from hearing my toot – or toots. Lots of them.

We also learned that contrary to popular belief, childbirth is not  a beautiful thing. Yes, my daughter is beautiful (not biased), but her entrance was absolutely not. When the doctor suits up with waders and an XL smock after a flock of nurses pad the floor with puppy potty-training pee pads,  you realize your tiny miracle’s entrance is basically the  log-flume ride at Six Flags.

But we did it. I had a baby, and Tye got two. One that weighed 6 lbs, 12 oz, and another that weighed a whole lot more. Both came home in diapers. Both prone to crying. Lots of crying. Poor husband. Damn you, post-pregnancy hormones.
But now we’re 2-months out, and our little universe is drastically different, and we love it. The 4 a.m. wake up call is not too bad when you’re greeted by a gummy smile. The world didn’t end after nearly 40 lbs of weight gain. In fact, 30 lbs fell off in the first month with zero exercise, unless you count changing 34,560,356 diapers a day –  repeating the 7-step perineal cleansing process after every trip to the restroom – and four weeks of breastfeeding – which is all I lasted. I was hell-bent on breastfeeding my little gal for at least the first 6-months. However, high stress and milk production don’t mix well – so Piper is a (dare I say it) formula baby. We’re Team ‘Fed Baby’ these days.  We’re also on Team ‘Don’t Judge Other Moms.’

I learned that being a ‘stay at home (for 8-weeks) mom’ is harder than any corporate job I’ll ever hold – and exorbitantly more rewarding. I’ve also learned that a clean house is overrated, a hard-body can wait, Netflix is worth every penny, waiting 6-weeks for sex is an eternity, and a patient, present husband is invaluable. Even if he falls asleep on the nursery floor.

Two months down. Here’s to many more with the little Pipe.