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Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year - Anne Lamott

This is a great, lovely book about having a newborn. I had a blast reading it because I don’t have a newborn anymore (a three & a half-year-old is a whole other flavor of getting your ass kicked) & it’s easy to have fond feelings about G's babyhood that are based on totally false recollections. "Remember when we could just set him on the couch & he couldn't go anywhere? Remember when he took two whole naps a day? Ah, such good times." I am an idiot. I was so constantly exhausted that my skeleton hurt, and while you could set G on the couch & he couldn’t go anywhere, he’d just start crying hysterically, so it wasn’t actually that cool. Lamott gazes at her napping son, thinking sweetly how angelic he is; she falls asleep, he wakes her up a few minutes later, and she thinks, “Oh great, he’s raising his monstrous lizard head again.” Yeah, I know that feeling. Every ludicrous fear she has that she’s broken Sam’s neck because she hit a pothole in the car, all her amazement at his star-like little hands, his gigantic round eyes, and his porno-baby puffy lips, every time she’s been listening to him cry for hours & she wants to give him back – every bit of this is totally spot-on. It’s so accurate to my own life that when she comments about how Sam can now say more than “Ah-goo” I laughed out loud. Ah-goo is the name of G’s stuffed monkey because it was the first animal he ever noticed & it was also the first thing he could say. This is such a wonderful book & I am absolutely never having another baby.