What is a Gratitude List
Turning 41 with a 7-week-old baby begets a very different kind of gratitude, kind of birthday, kind of LIFE. I am not my own anymore, and yet it’s as critical as ever that I remain true to who I am, so that the little teeny life that depends on me has a model from which to create herself. It’s beautiful, amazing, a lot of pressure, and freakin’ hard. And the gratitude is like a thin layer under the skin, always there, somehow both less important than before because nothing is more important than her, and more important because I firmly believe gratitude builds (sustains, maintains) good people.
A list feels daunting today, because the people that have been there for me since the baby was born have really shown up. Quietly, loudly, present, in text, by phone call, with gifts, laughs, food, and their time. It’s astounding and incredible.
My mom has, of course, been an absolute lifesaver. Her love for my baby is as helpful as any physical or mental assistance she’s provided; the model she provides every time she shows up is something I will forever be grateful for and can hardly put into words.
I have a harder time feeling gratitude for my admittedly incredible husband, because this baby is HIS too. But that’s not fair, and it’s also not how gratitude works. I am so lucky to have a partner who IS as engaged in raising this baby as I am, who is up at 3am feeds and has changed 93.4% of the diapers. Hormones are the bathroom bitch who encourages you to hate your husband as if it’s empowering(1).
The neighbros, my dad, the bigger kids … so grateful for their love of BABY SANNE. They pop over constantly to love on her, and my sis-in-law has been amazing in providing sanity checks for me.
TO my framily, wow. Just wow. I am so grateful. They have done the thing where they make sure they show the new mama love in spades, while loving on the baby, and it’s the best. I am so so grateful for my chosen family.
I’m grateful for Bob, and Bob’s training, and how good of a boy he is even when kicked out of our bedroom.
I’m grateful for:
- hand-me-downs (for me and for baby)
- retrievair
- toobing
- matching swimsuits
- iphone pics – imagine if we didn’t have cameras in our pockets?!
- lattes (in the fridge and of the a la dada variety)
- my truck
- errand runs
- THE BABY CARRIER (this)
- Kate’s Real Food bars and the kids constantly asking for a bar
- the promise of a new pantry and deep freezer
- keeping up with work connections
- the greenfield* that is my career
- austin wine merchant in jefferson square
- birthdays that aren’t mine
- livestreamed concerts
- football is back
- the traditions I kept for a little while with this blog (birthday before lists)
- my health, recovery, and PT
- neighborhood walks
- lymphatic massage
- rediscovering mom’s enchiladas
- amazon prime video’s resurgence of dumb teen shows
*I hate myself for using this corporate term here but it is just so apropos
- I promised no mom blog, but by god if I don’t need to at least start a column or something that you could skip if you wanted because there is a lot of stuff “they” don’t tell you about pregnancy and newborns and babies and that I’m confident you forget by the time you have your second or else you’d obviously never do it again—which, come to think of it, you’re too naive to believe some of this shit is true for your first even if someone did tell you but it should be said nonetheless. Hating your husband is one of those things no one talks about. It is real.