I'm back!

Today, I realized I'm not totally invisible. And what a great feeling that is.

Any woman who has spent 10 weeks of her life feeding, changing, being spit up on and generally consumed by a baby knows what I'm talking about. Okay, maybe Heidi Klum doesn't know this feeling, but you get the picture. You begin to feel as though the entire world looks at you but only sees the baby. And when the baby isn't directly in front of you, it's as though there is some kind of magical shadow that she still manages to cast, in the shape of spit-up on your shoulders, a dearth of earrings to grab, scraggly hair that's been pulled multiple times (and is falling out in great chunks thanks to the hormones) and the air of fatigue that follows someone who spends her entire life caring for another life.

Don't get me wrong - I love Catherine and would rather spend my days in schlumpy spit-up covered clothes than put on a cute outfit and go shopping or whatever it is I did three months ago. She is endlessly fascinating and super-adorable. But sometimes I begin to forget that I'm here, behind this fascinating, super-adorable infant.

So today was a tiny miracle. I was out walking the baby girl in our usual 300 degree heat, struggling to keep the stroller going straight down the steep hill in our neighborhood while dodging great piles of goose poop when I heard it. A wolf whistle. One of the guys landscaping a neighbor's house had whistled at me. It couldn't be a mistake, because I was the only person on the street (and he couldn't get a good enough look at Catherine to whistle at her, thank God.) Nope, it was meant for me, in all my sweaty, spitty glory.

Now I know my part of the social construct is to act offended, but what I really wanted to do was wheel my stroller around and give that man a kiss on the mouth. Because after nearly three months of invisibility, nothing feels as good as some good, old-fashioned objectification.