There isn’t a metaphor I can think of to liken what it’s like to bring home a new baby. There might be on out there, but I’m far too exhausted to come up with it. The closest thing I can come up with is it’s like having an addict move in with you. They both require constant supervision and accommodation, and it is only through the immense love you feel for them that you put up with what would normally be considered absolutely outrageous behavior.

The first few days were an exhaustive tease. You can see your bed, but can’t sleep in it. You can see the food in your fridge, but you can’t eat it because your hands are full. You see the mess you need to clean up, the laundry that needs to be done, the litter boxes that need to be scooped and the trash that needs to be taken out, but you can’t get to any of it.

So much of parenting is simply believing in yourself that you can actually do this. It’s a huge step for me to trust myself with this task. I’m always afraid that I’ll over think it or misinterpret his cues. We see the doctor in a few days so we’ll hopefully have some validation that we’re doing something right.