Typing with one hand

Motherhood is both completely like and nothing like I thought it would be. One way in which it has surprised me is a newfound reliance on autocorrect to make sure my i’s are capitalised.

Seeing my brother’s face in my child is a surprise as well; one that hits my heart in the most bittersweet way, since his uncle resides an ocean and a continent away.

The interrupted sleep is also much more manageable than I expected; or at least I often think it is, until I fall to absolute pieces looking in the vegetable drawer for something, anything that’s edible, yet being confronted instead with the fact that I really should’ve stopped somewhere for groceries on my way home from work. Enter despair, invited to the party (and the pantry) by my bosom buddy, sleep deprivation.

It’s almost comical how regularly I field the question, “is he sleeping much?” I’ve perfected my deadpan frown, out of necessity. For people without babies, or even people with babies, it often seems there’s not much to speak to a new mother about until this vital and pressing question is addressed. And I suppose, given the absolute mind-mangling that occurs from constant nocturnal interruption, the capacity for fielding questions is significantly reduced when you have a small babe in tow. At leat social conventions help make these interchanges manageable by keeping things simple.