Even pregnancy can’t prepare a woman for the daily sacrifice of what life with a child looks like. To wit, the other day I went to the bathroom and peed while holding my infant on my lap.

I won’t get into how I got there; for you mothers out there, I doubt I have to. But, as I explained it to The Husband a few nights ago (as he no doubt just wanted to check the score on the game), there’s not a moment or thought that goes by that does not include him. The new him being The Kid.

Our fledgling family is working its way through this new dynamic and I’m struggling with it on my own. Going out to dinner with the girls the other night was enough to throw me into a tailspin: calculations of transit time plus eating time and making it all work to ensure I was home by feeding time; considerations of what I can and can’t order lest it upset TK’s sensitive stomach (and result in more spit-up and dirty diapers for me and TH to clean up); texts sent to TH to gauge just how stranded he’s feeling at home. Then there was the Valentine’s dinner for me and TH, our first dinner out since before The Kid burst onto the scene: similar time and menu considerations set against the backdrop of our foundational relationship; conversations about his well-being alongside our plans; discussions of spit-up and dirty diapers instead of ordering another bottle of wine.

Everything is different.

I’ll be honest: right now, different doesn’t always feel better. Different usually feels more difficult. Loading gear, timing cries, repositioning, wiping butt and face. No more hangovers, just early mornings. And the weekend? What is a weekend? We often have to remind ourselves that we chose this path, and chose it for a reason…a reason whose dividends pay out over time.

If I sound selfish, it’s because I am. I’ve had several decades of honing my own routine, getting set in my own ways, and considering only myself. “Enough of all that,” said God. Marriage was a gentle nudge away from self-centeredness; having a kid is an alarm clock right in my ear, forcing me out of myself. I know I needed it, and I’m thankful for the fact that, just like a good little French bebe, the alarm clock waits until the morning now to go off (who am I kidding? I consider it our proudest accomplishment, whether we had anything to do with it or not). But I’m leaning on faith in the dividends; I’m ready for a returned smile; and I choose to believe, every moment, that grace provides the math that turns sacrifice into gain.