Today was great. I spent Christmas Eve day home alone in a full body sweatsuit mostly laying around in bed playing Sim City and eating ice cream out of the carton (judgement-free zone, ok?). Tonight we met up with friends and went to an awesome party where the adults hung out upstairs and ate lamb chops and crab dip and the teenagers played beer pong and listened to that one Gotye song from last year in the basement.
All of that aside, the hands-down best part of my day was when I got to feed this adorable baby girl a bottle and then watch her pass out formula-drunk in my arms:
This friend, the owner of this baby, actually wrote a book about mom things. In the introduction, she talks about not being one of those women who people ever handed a baby to until she got pregnant. That’s me! This is literally the first time I’ve held and fed a baby. I’m 32. Babies are scarier than a human centipede made out of organic chemistry exams. Or maybe not? Because this was just so easy and pleasant and lovely and oh my god, all the hormones.
I can do this, right??