I used to be organized. Now as the mother of two, I organize the bare minimum and hope the rest falls into place.Since my daughter was born four months ago, I have had three appointments at the pediatrician. At the first appointment, I showed up an hour early. At the second one, I arrived an hour late. (At both, I thought I was on time.) And, at the third one, I forgot it entirely and didn’t show up at all. Today, I’m going for the fourth appointment (the make-up one of the third) and hope the doctor will still open the door for me.

Sofia is asleep on my chest as I write this. Last night, she slept through the night for the first time so I’m loving her more than ever today. Being a mom is the hardest job I’ve had to date. Childcare is tough - no matter how many kids you have. Every child has different demands; every parent has different talents at meeting those demands. But I’m still amazed by the patience and the ability to multi-task that women generally possess.

Babycare differs drastically from childcare. For starters, I get the feeling that women do more of it than men. That’s not to say that men aren’t capable of doing it but I think they feel more comfortable having women take charge. And, in most cases, nature dictates that Mamma is in charge since she’s breastfeeding. Well, there’s always pumping milk which makes it possible then for dad to feed baby. The pump. The odious pump. One friend told me that every time she watched the pumping machine tug back and forth at her nipple to extract a teardrop of milk she swore she could hear it singing a little ditty that went like this: “You-have-no-life,” back and forth, back and forth. But the irony is that the only way you can actually feel as if you still have a life beyond baby is if you pump and let someone else do the feeding for a change.

The first three months of a newborn’s life really is boot camp for the mom, in particular. Little sleep, constant breastfeeding, and never-ending feelings of complete exhaustion. But month four really does feel a little better (we arrived there today). Aside from the victory of sleeping through the night, what’s even better are the smiles that surface on her cherubic face and the occasional giggles when I kiss her bare tummy. I love seeing the rings of fat around her legs. And I love how her eyes follow me now as I move around the room. I feel as if I may have more of a role than just the milk machine these days.

Oops, just looked at my watch: I have to go to the pediatrician’s appointment now or else I’m sure it’s three strikes and I’m out.