I want to write a new post, but I'm pretty sure the baby is going to wake up from his nap any moment now...

It's snowing like a bitch outside. I'm not happy. Spring has fucking sprung on the calender, can someone please inform mother nature? Winnipeg is getting dumped on and it fucking sucks. PERIOD.

Everyone is complaining about it. We should not be surprised it's here, really. Winnipeg - this shit happens. Regularly.

I'm itching to get outside, walk around, burn off the last bit of the baby weight. I get slightly nervous taking the baby in the car when the weather is like this but I also refuse to let it keep me locked inside this apartment another day. Tonight, when Punk Boy gets home, I'm taking a short trip to return some movies and fill two prescriptions of mine. Also need to get diapers and formula for the wee one. Tomorrow, Baby boy and I have our first play date. Getting together with a few fellow co-workers. We all had babies around the same time (I believe there is maybe like two weeks difference in age here) and one of the ladies though it would be fun. I'm game. I don't know these people that well, but having children is a big thing in common and damn it I want to see how other mothers are with their babies. Maybe next time the public health nurse visits here, I'm gonna ask her about mom and me drop in sessions. Maybe it's time...

Just checked on baby boy - fuck he stinks. There is a diaper change, a nasty one, in my near future, but I'm not going to wake him up to do it.

Everyday I'm feeling a bit more comfortable with the new title Baby boy has given me. Mom, never thought that would happen but it's here and it's not that bad, really. My mother told me today that my dad mentioned to her what a good mother I am. Nearly made my heart cave in. My father and I have a past, and not a very good one. He never seemed to approve of the way I lived my live and I didn't care or need that approval. But with getting older comes the desire for the praise, and though he doesn't give it openly to me, to hear it via a third party is more than enough for me right now.

Baby boy is four months old today. Four months of this have gone by. Four months of winter, with the occasional nice day for walking. Four months of having spit up on every article of clothing, of cleaning it from the beige sofa (note: if you are planning on having kids, don't get a beige sofa), four months of diaper changes, of odd hours and rewarding smiles from baby. Where has the time gone?

Took Baby boy for his four month check-up yesterday. He's a hefty 15 lbs, which is perfect for his age. He's come a long way from the 6 lbs he was at birth. Doctor says he's doing fantastic, and also told me he can still hear the heart murmur. He said that the sound of it is very faint, and that he's not too worried about it but wants to send us for an ultrasound of baby boy's heart, just to make sure its developing as it should. He told me not to worry. Its hard not too. Baby boy seems so happy and, well, normal to me that I sometimes almost forget about his little ticker. Then there are those times when it's all that I can think of and it races through my brain like a fright train. I love this little being so much, and I feel awful I gave him a bad heart. I want the best for him and I want him to live a great, full life. I don't want him to suffer.

Ah snow, you make me think of things I shouldn't. I can't help it. I don't want to blame myself for his heart, but I have to. My body made him, I did my best to nurture him from the moment I found out he existed - did I make a mistake? Did my frustration and the stress I felt during my pregnancy affect him? I can help but wonder what the stress did to him. I know it fucked me, so what about my little, little baby boy?

These are silly thoughts. I despise them but them keep coming back. I still hold great stresses that came from my pregnancy. Maybe, maybe sometime soon I will blog about them and what they did to me and how angry I recently got about them. It is very personal, very hard to discuss but sometimes, by discussing, I feel better about things. I hate it because I feels selfish when I think about those actions, those words and those things said. I feel selfish because I''m thinking completely about how I felt during those moments and what other's actions did to me.

That's fucked.

There's no need for me to feel selfish, goddamnit.

Crap, Baby is crying..

Crap indeed...