I've resisted the siren call of the blogosphere for a while. There are so many people who do this, and so many that do it better than I could ever hope to. But this is a completely selfish adventure. My son, Pi, is 13 months old and has no baby book. Well, he has one - a few, actually - I just can't get it together to write in any of them. These electronic ruminations will have to take the place of poring through lovingly organized mementos and excruciatingly detailed descriptions of his first word, first steps, first food he flung at us, etc. I've got to get something committed to writing before it all just flies right out of my head.
Because that lie that everyone tells you? That lie that you find completely impossible to believe in those first crazy months when your life is consumed by nursing, crying, trying unsuccessfully to get the baby to sleep, feed, stop that horrible noise already, watching the clock and counting the never-ending minutes till that guy who got you into this mess (hell, it could be any guy at that point, just so I can have two seconds to pee) gets the hell home? That completely bullshit story that "it all goes by so fast"? Turns out that lie, that bullshit story - it's all true.