That voice in my head.

I'm sure I'm not the first, nor will I be the last mother to wonder if I actually suck at this.

Am I playing with him enough?  Am I feeding him the right amount?  Does that face mean he's still hungry or is he just remembering what it's like to eat?  Am I dressing him comfortably?  Should I put him to bed earlier?  Is this fabric softener causing his skin to dry out?  Will I ever sleep soundly again?

I answer the voice in my head:  "I think so, now please piss off because you're stressing me out."

I mean, if I'm getting this wrong, he'd be screaming persistently or failing to thrive or calling Bob Crow or Jimmy Hoffa or whoever runs the squidgy boy union or something, right?  But I get babble, coo, smile, cuddle, poo, short-scream-resolved-with-bottle.  (The last bit works on adults too.) These would seem to indicate a happy, content little man.  So I guess we're doing ok for now.  Guess I'll have to pack that voice in a box and ship it off to Timbuktu.  Or Boise, Idaho.  Or Mitt Romney's house.

And.

I was also recently wondering when to anticipate the return of Aunt Flo.  Upon Googling I learned that breastfeeding can delay this indefinitely.  I may just have to keep expressing through menopause.