In case you haven't already figured it out...

The endorphins are gone. Long gone. They abandoned me about a week after Milo was born -- roughly around the time it became impossible for me to pee. I felt like I'd just been cast down into a dreary gray mundanity after experiencing the biggest and best ecstasy trip ever -- except in this bleak new reality I wasn't allowed to sleep. And then there was that whole "being unable to pee" thing -- that certainly didn't make it any better. (But that was soon followed by a week in which I couldn't stop pooing -- and the less said about that, the better.**)

And after the loss of the endorphins came the tears... Oh yes, the tears. It seems like I cry at everything these days. All the barriers I've erected over the years against the floodgates of my emotions have been blown away like flimsy old billboards in the path of a hurricane.

I cry because Milo's so small and helpless and the only way he can communicate his needs is by crying himself.

I cry because he's getting bigger every day and no longer fits into his first outfits and will never be a teeny tiny "single-digit-day-old" newborn again.

I cry because I have to fight to make him sleep in the mornings then have to fight to make him wake up in the afternoons.

I cry because when he frowns he looks like he hates me and when he smiles he looks like an angel who's just pulled a fast one on God.

I cry because he's just so damned cute when he's curled into a little ball on my chest and because the green eye boogers that have been clogging up his left eye simply refuse to go away.

I cry because a mild case of infant acne has marred his perfect beauty and because he'll have to go through the whole acne thing all over again once he's a teenager. Then I cry because he's someday going to be a teenager and want to learn how to drive fast cars and no doubt get good and liquored up at crazy house parties while I lie awake nights, praying that he arrives home safely.

And then I cry because I know I'm turning into my mom.

But mostly, I just cry because I haven't been getting enough sleep.

(Although in the interests of full disclosure I should mention that Milo let me sleep for a whole four hours last night! My lord and master's generosity knows no bounds!)

Now in case you're all hurrying to call the postpartum hotline on my behalf, hold the phones, people. For as much as I've been crying because I've been sad or frustrated or overwhelmed by how surprisingly non-intuitive I'm finding this whole mothering thing to be, I've also been crying because I'm happy and grateful and awed by the opportunity to bear witness to the unfolding of a new life. All the challenges and difficulties seem to evaporate when I'm looking into my son's eyes and he's looking into mine and I know he's seeing me, really seeing me for the first time, and trying to figure out who I am and how I fit into this bizarre new world in which he finds himself -- all the while no doubt thinking, "What the hell's she crying about, anyway?"

**Yes, my language has become permanently infantilized. My breasts have become "boobs," my urine is "pee" and the act of taking a shit is now "pooing." And all three of these things have become perfectly fine topics to bring up in general conversation, thank you very much.