On Sunday Adam and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary, which makes this all the more awkward, but I have to get something off my chest. There’s a new guy in my life.
I don’t know him well — don’t know his favorite color or book or animal — but at the same time I feel that we understand each other perfectly, without a word. Because he doesn’t speak. Well, he grunts. Our knowledge of each other is entirely physical and instinctual. He doesn’t like to sleep without me. No, really, I have to wrap him in basically a straight-jacket to get him to sleep. We think about each other constantly. I’m obsessed with his smell and his skin, and can’t stop touching him and hugging him. He’s obsessed with my boobs. My boobs are obsessed with him. In fact, when I think about him I start to lactate.
This is the thought I had last night as I was lying in bed nursing Alton back to sleep. (Once you learn to nurse while lying down, you enjoy newborndom a lot more, I’ve found.) Having a new baby really is a lot like being newly in love. Without all the sex of course, perv! Then again, it IS awfully physical, and you do spend a lot time with your new pal’s privates. Okay, a diaper change is no roll in the hay, but you catch my drift. You bore your friends talking about how amazing the new guy is. You are often flooded with hormones while in the new guy’s presence. Etc.
And like with a new love, you know things will change and deepen and get more complicated. That the new guy’s actual personality (other than snuggly love bug) will make itself shown soon, and that the new guy will eventually do something annoying, and that the new guy will develop interests other than you — that you will get to know each other better, and like in, say, a 7-year-marriage, will love each other very very much but of course in a different, perhaps less pure, although more informed and lasting, way. But for now, you are everything to each other, and though it’s exhausting, it’s also really fun.