the butterball is out of the oven

Marriage is easy.

Parenthood is a whole other ball of poopy diapers. All the lovey dovey, just-us-two, cooing and ahh-ing goes out the window (reserved for baby, for now) and real life kicks in.

And that’s what Butterball is. She is reality in the flesh. All out to let you know that life with baby looks much like an ECG chart, a roller-coaster ride of elevated highs and plunging lows. Every lung-expelling wail a warning that the end is near, but every toothless, one-dimpled smile a signal that things are gonna be all right.

I see couples with a new infant with fresh eyes, understanding at once the inexplicable life-changing event that has happened to them and how life will never, ever be the same again. How, at once you feel angst and anxiety at that notion, yet gut-wrenching joy and also wondrous befuddlement about how we filled our days before, devoid of this tiny little creature who has since taken up every minute of our waking hours.

I now look at parents with two or more screaming children with sympathy but also envy, sensing completely how hectic and sleepless their days and nights must be, and yet envious of the fullness and warmth a large family brings, knowing with my age and our financial situation, Mumbles and I will probably just have the one little Butterball.

No longer Mumbles and I, two against the world. Now it’s the three of us, Mumbles, Butterball, and me.

How terrifying. How exciting.

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